GIFT  OF 


THE  BELLS 


AND  OTHER 


POEMS 


KATHERINE  S.  NICHOLS. 


Something,  as  you  look  o'er  these  pages, 
May  you  find,  kind  reader  and  friend; 

Suggesting  thoughts  higher  and  greater, 

Your  mind  and  your  heart  will  commend. 


EDWARD   H.    NICHOLS 

"RINTER    AND    PUBLISHER.  COPYRIGHTED 

HAVERHILL,     MASS  1889 


c 


O  N  T  E  N  TS 


PAGE 

THE  EVENTFUL  BELLS  OF  ST.  MICH^LS,  C.  S.  C 5 

LIBERTY  BELL 9 

PLANTATION  BELL 12 

BELLS  OF  THE  EXPOSITION 15 

CHIMES 17 

CHRISTMAS 19 

AS  THE  POETS  SING 21 

THK.  GREAT   POET 23 

THE  POET'S   THOUGHT 25 

M  USICI ANS 27 

THE  SINGERS. 

SO,  SING  YOUR  SONGS 3o 

LIEBCHEN  AND  THE  COMPOSERS 32 

AN  INCIDENT  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  JENNY  LIND 44 

PARAPA  ROSA  AND  LITTLE  ELFIN 48 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

IN  AUTUMN 54 

FANCIES 56 

WHEN  THE  HEART  IS  IN  TUNE 58 

HERITAGE 60 

PERSEVERANCE  CONQUERS  ALL  THINGS 62 

ASPHODEL 64 

GOLDEN  MOMENTS 65 

RESPONSIBILITY 67 

COMPENSATION 69 

THE   RAIN 7o 

PROVIDENCE 72 

THE  RIGHT 73 

THE  WINGED   HOURS  75 

TO  YOUTH 77 

AH  YUTE 80 

LINES 83 

LIGHT 84 

MORN.., 


PAGE 

THE  STORM 89 

DAY 92 

GRANT-OUR  NATION'S   HERO 94 

GLADSTONE  REFUSING  THE  TITLE  OF  EARL 96 

SONNET   TO  A.  M.  H 99 

THE  BARTHOLDI  STATUE,  ETC.,  ETC 100 

CATHEDRAL  OF   COLOGNE 101 

BALDER.  ETC 105 

THE  SEASONS 108 

BRIGHT  AND   FAIR no 

EDELWIESS 112 

O    SWALLOWS 114 

THE  ZEPHYRS 117 

SWEET  BRIER  ROSE IIQ 

HARVEST   TIME 121 

FROST 123 

THE  SLEIGH  RIDE 125 

A  SUNSET  ON  LAKE  WINNIPISSEOGEE 128 

THE  BROOK: 132 

THE  MAY  FLOWER— NEW  ENGLAND'S  SNOW  FLOWER 134 

MEADOWS  SWEET 136 

UP  RED  HILL 138 

ROBIN  RED-BREAST 142 

THE  ORIOLE i44 

THE  SUMMER  DAWN 147 

SONG  OF  THE  RILL 149 

A  SUMMER  NIGHT 151 

THE  MOUNTAIN  MAID 153 

CHILD  AND    BLOSSOMS 155 

THE  RIDE 157 

THE  BETROTHAL 161 

ACCU  MULATION 163 

THE  LADY 166 

ARTISTS 167 

THE  PAINTER 168 

PICTURES 170 

THE   NEW  YEAR 174 


THE    EVENTFUL    BELLS 

OF    ST. MICH/ELS,    CHARLESTON,    S.    C. 


Silvery  chimes  that  for  many  a  year, 
Have  waved  in  sweet  sounds  out  on  the  soft  air, 
Their  calls  to  worship,  to  praise  and  to  pray, 
In  this  temple  to  God,  on  the  Sabbath  day. 

But  with  no  sweet  consciousness  are  they  fraught, 
Though  so  closely  linked  to  our  life  and  thought,- 
We  sing  of  these  now,  while  in  peace  they  chime, 
And  wait  things  to  come  with  the  tide  of  time. 

The  bells  were  fashioned  on  Albion's  shore, 
And  made  of  metals  of  differing  ore, 
These  positioned  with  care  until  it  was  found, 
The  bells  had  a  resonant  musical  sound. 

Of  their  kindred  and  friends  the  owners  thought, 
When  having  the  bells  thus  carefully  wrought, 
To  bestow  on  them  a  musical  dower, 
To  crown  their  St.  Michael's  lofty  tower. 


6 

So  across  the  sea  came  the  new-made  bells ; 

To  ring  praise  and  peans,  and  toll  sad  knells, 

For  people  who  dwelt  in  this  sun-warmed  clime, — 

Where  sweet  flowers  bloom  through  the  winter's  prime. 

But  the  colonies  struggling  with  meagre  dower, — 
Oppressed  with  burdens  by  father-land  power, 
Rebelled,  as  they  thought,  with  a  rightful  cause, 
Against  his  coercive  and  stringent  laws. 

With  the  town  the  bells  were  captured  in  war, 
And  then  carried  back  o'er  the  sea  afar ; 
But  when  to  the  colonies  peace  came,  then 
The  bells  to  St.  Michael's  were  brought  again. 

Anew  in  their  tower  then  gaily  they  swung, 
And  jubilant  tones  out  on  the  air  rung; 
For  the  people  rejoiced  in  the  good  work  wrought, 
With  delight  in  the  peace  they  had  dearly  bought. 

And  jubilant,  then,  because  they  were  free, 
To  rule  the  nation,  as  ruled  it  should  be, 
But  ere  long  with  the  tide  of  prosperity's  waves, 
The  good  rule  they  periled  by  holding  slaves. 


7 

When  a  new  rebellion  this  caused  in  the  land, — 
So,  proud  to  be  free  from  the  parent  hand, — 
The  menaced  bells  were  again  from  the  tower 
Taken  down,  and  away  from  the  bombarding  power. 


But  in  time  the  conqueror's  storming  shells, 
Battered  and  shivered  the  wandering  bells, 
In  the  place  for  safety  to  which  they  were  borne, 
Where  the  "stars  and  bars"  were  from  their  State 
House  torn. 


When  this  war  'tween  brothers,  at  last,  did  cease, 
And  time  for  thought  came,  with  return  of  peace, 
Then  the  broken  pieces,  the  twisted  and  bent, 
Were  gathered  and  again  o'er  the  blue  main  sent. 


To  be  recast  of  same  metal  and  grade, 
And  same  firm,  by  whom  at  first  they  were  made, 
Then  by  the  freemen  brought  across  the  bright  waves, 
To  the  land  of  free  yeomen  and  of  freed  slaves. 


8 

And  the  third  time  raised  in  St.  Michael's  high  tower, 
To  ring  tones  of  triumph,  with  new-made  power. 
And  glad  sounds  the  hearts  of  the  people  to  cheer, 
For  silenced  was  din  of  war  on  the  ear. 

Treasured,  eventful  and  much  traveled  bells  ! 
Novel  the  story  their  history  tells, 
Threatened  by  fire  that  brought  a  slave's  release, 
Borne  away  by  wars  to  return  in  peace. 

Then  escape  the  terrible  earthquake  shock, 
That  unsafe  made  many  a  house  and  block ; 
Long  in  St.  Michael's  grand  tower  may  they  swing, 
And  in  peace  unbroken  long  may  they  ring. 


LIBERTY    BELL 


O'er  Independence  Hall  the  bell  hung, 
And  for  Freedom  loudly  was  rung; 
"Liberty,  for  each  and  for  all," 
Rang  in  shouts  from  the  patriot's  hall. 

The  nation  then  wild  with  "Hurrahs," 
Waved  pennons,  with  stripes  and  with  stars, 
Cried  "the  foe  has  fled  from  our  shores, 
Oppression  we've  barred  from  our  doors." 

A  Goddess  they  brought  to  adorn, 
Their  "Hall"  with  her  fair  stately  form, 
With  Liberty's  cap  on  her  head, 
For  to  Freedom  the  Goddess  was  wed. 

And  a  wand  to  hold  in  her  hand. 
To  wave  over  all  the  broad  land, 
That  the  people  under  its  sway, 
Should  the  laws  of  freemen  obey. 


10 


An  eagle  from  his  eyrie  was  brought, 
Thus  to  emblem  the  power  they  sought; 
While  as  strong  they  felt  in  their  might, 
As  earnest  in  the  wish  to  do  right. 

The  bell  tones  of  Liberty  rang, 

As  the  freemen  of  freedom  sang, 

And  then,  there  were  none  in  her  bounds, 

Could  say  these  were  empty,  false  sounds. 

"Equal  rights  has  each  one,  and  all," 
Rang  from  Pennsylvania  Hall, 
"Right  to  life  and  to  liberty. 
For  our  God  has  made  all  men  free." 

So  the  years  passed  by  till  there  came, 
From  out  the  far  north  a  dark  train  ; 
Cries  swept  through  the  air  their  way  round- 
Or,  was  it  the  wind's  wailing  sound? 

Ah  no  !   the  sad  wind  has  no  strain, 
Like  the  heart's  deeper  wail  of  pain — 
It  has  passed — this  thought  will  upspring, 
Fair  Liberty  with  a  broken  wing. 


O,  did  the  sad  tones,  with  the  fright 
Of  that  dreary  and  dismal  night, 
Of  slaves  borne  from  'neath  the  north  star, 
Draw  that  fatal  seam  in  the  side? 


Or  that  men  were  false  in  their  pride 

To  the  freedom  they  vaunted  so  far? 

That  made  the  break  with  the  fearful  wound — 

The  bell  lose  forever  its  musical  sound. 


PLANTATION    BELL. 

LEGEND  OF  THE  OLD  SLAVE  BELL  OK  LAKE 
PONCHARTRAIN. 

Not  to  ring  peans  for  freedom, 
Was  it  wrought  in  musical  form  ; 

But  to  wake  and  call  to  his  labor, 
The  slave  in  early  gray  of  the  morn. 

For  one,  who  owned  slaves  and  acres, 
Had  it  for  his  pride  and  use  made, 

And  he,  to  make  the  tones  sweeter, 
Had  silver  wrought  in  of  fine  grade. 

Then  high  in  a  tower  he  hung  it, 

That  far  might  be  heard  its  clear  sound 

By  slaves  asleep  in  their  cabins, 
Or  toiling  in  cane-brakes  around. 

When  day  was  opening  her  windows, 
To  them  sharp  were  the  tones  it  rung; 

But  when  eve  drew  down  her  dark  curtains, 
Most  silvery  sweet  were  they  sung. 


13 

Our  hearts  tune  our  ears  to  music  ; 

Sweet  sounds  are  as  wails  to  their  pain ; 
With  longing  for  things  that  are  better, 

Hope  and  joy  will  spring  in  each  strain. 

In  twilight  the  tones  were  all  music, 

In  hours  of  rest  silvery  sweet; 
And  the  slaves  would  say  that  they  loved  it 

When  near  it,  in  crowds,  they  would  meet. 

For  as  to  a  friend,  they  would  come, 
To  wail  out  their  griefs  and  their  songs, 

While  they  talked  of  the  comfort  it  gave  them 
When  suffering  most  from  their  wrongs. 

And  many  were  the  tales  they  told, 

When  dim  night  was  lone  with  the  stars, 

Of  a  wonderful  heavenly  music, 

Singing  sweet  to  them  through  its  bars. 

That  somehow,  when  they  were  most  sad, 
The  bell  tones  would  ring  with  such  cheer, 

That  new  hope  would  well  in  their  hearts, 
No  more  would  they  have  any  fear. 


Would  talk  of  a  spell  in  the  music, 

Which  made  them  in  gladness  rejoice  ; 

Believing  that  God  and  His  angels 

Spoke  of  freedom  to  them  through  its  voice. 

In  the  morn  it  rang  for  the  master ; 

But  a  joy  seemed  in  it  to  swell, 
When  it  rang  for  the  slaves  in  the  evening, 

For  then  it  was  Liberty's  Bell. 

One  day,  the  day  set  for  their  freedom, 
In  thanksgiving  filled  by  them,  well, 

It  rang  loud  peals  and  triumphant, 
So,  ending  its  mission,  it  fell. 


NOTK.— It  was  said,  by  the  slaves,  that  the  day  when  their  emanci 
pation  was  proclaimed,  the  bell  fell  from  the  tower,  breaking  in  its  side 
the  long  fissure,  so  like  to  that  in  the  side  of  Liberty  Bell  of  Pennsyl 
vania  Hall,  Philadelphia. 


BELLS    OF    THE    EXPOSITION. 

NEW    ORLEANS. 

Liberty  Bell,  thou  wert  brought  from  far, 
From  colder  clime  'neath  the  pale  north  star, 
To  meet  the  slave  bell  of  the  sunny  south, 
By  Mississippi's  wide  river  mouth  ; 
Where  mingle  the  lily  and  rose  perfumes 
With  jassamine's  fragrance  and  orange  blooms. 

Ye  are  silent,  Bells,  but  your  mute  tongues, 
Speak  still  of  Liberty  and  of  wrongs  ; 
The  Liberty  of  our  early  braves  : 
Slavery  near  Ponchartrain's  waves, 
And  wherefore  hither  are  ye  now  brought? 
And  what  the  meaning  in  this  is  wrought? 

Ye  tell,  and  greatly  it  is  to  your  praise, 

How  beats  the  Nation's  great  heart  these  days 

How  it  grows  in  right,  of  errors  shorn, 

By  trials  and  conflicts,  it  has  borne. 

That  best  men  err,  we  regretful  find — 

Yet,  so  grows  our  love  for  all  mankind. 


i6 


Tis  through  defeat's  most  bitter  smart. 
Men  ever  learn  the  wiser  part — 
Learn  by  God's  law ;    that  we  receive 
In  just  proportion  as  we  give, — 
That  Nations  true  to  right  will  rise 
To  the  high  estate,  that  all  men  prize. 


In  larger  thought  and  growth  we'll  rest, 
For  lessons  slowly  learned  are  best ; 
So  through  experience,  cost  and  pain, 
We  step  upon  a  higher  plane, 
Which  leads  us  in  a  better  way 
Safe,  where  our  feet  can  never  strav. 


How  happy,  'neath  this  winter's  sun, 
Are  men  to  meet,  when  they,  as  one, 
Cling  to  this  right,  throughout  the  land, 
Accept  as  best  and  own  God's  hand  ; 
Though  just  his  rule,  in  love  rules  still 
Our  Nation,  bending  to  His  will. 


CHIMES. 

Softly  pealing,  far  and  near, 
Fall  the  distant  silvery  chimes, 
Fall  in  slow  and  rythmic  rhymes, 
In  low,  sweet  and  tender  swells, 
Voices  of  the  many  bells, 

Chiming,  chiming,  sweet  and  clear. 

Silvery  chimes  come  o'er  the  lea's, 
Through  the  stilly  dreamy  woods, 
When  life  is  in  quiet  moods, 
In  the  Sabbath  morning  hush, 
When  the  rose  in  crimson  blush, 

Lifts  its  perfume  on  the  breeze. 

Silvery  chimes  upon  the  air; 
In  tones  tender,  rich  and  sweet, 
And  with  music  all  replete, 
Chiming  praises  of  our  Lord, 
Thrilling  e'er  the  heart's  deep  chord, 

Praises  floating  everywhere. 


i8 


Silvery  chimes  so  soft  and  pure, 
Pealing,  tender  as  a  psalm, 
Sweet  tones  that  our  spirits  calm, 
Softly  on  the  morning  air, 
Calling  to  the  house  of  prayer, — 

Lift  our  thoughts  to  higher  sphere. 


CHRISTMAS. 


O  welcome  the  day,  let  Christmas  bells  chime, 
Welcome  Day  of  days  in  the  eons  of  time — 

When  Life  of  life  winged  through  the  gates  of  morn, 
From  the  Golden  hills  of  glorious  day, 
Where  the  light  with  light  in  its  splendors  play, 
With  the  star  of  stars  to  herald  his  birth, 
Star  halied  with  joy  by  the  wise  men  of  earth, 

As  a  child  in  Judea's  land  is  born. 

O  welcome  the  day,  let  Christmas  bells  chime 
The  wonderful  day  of  that  joyful  time 

When  the  angel  of  God  to  shepherds  came, 
And  the  glory  of  God  about  them  shone 
Glory  of  glories,  to  the  world  unknown  :  — 
And  the  angel  glad  tidings  brought  to  earth, 
The  joyful  news  of  a  Saviour's  birth, 

Of  the  Christ  in  Bethlehem's  manger  born. 


20 

O  welcome  the  day,  let  Chrismas  bells  chime 
The  song  of  angels,  glorious,  sublime  ; 

Day-spring  of  new  era,  the  world's  new  dawn, 
When  the  Lord  revealed  his  wonderful  plan, 
To  uplift  and  ennoble  fallen  man, 
And  bring  him  again  to  his  pristine  state, 
From  all  sins  evil,  from  its  wrong  and  hate, 

Through  our  Redeemer  in  Bethlehem  born. 


O  welcome  the  day,  let  Christmas  bells  chime, 
Welcome  day  of  days  in  the  cycles  of  time  ! 

O  welcome  the  day  that  ushers  the  morn 

Of  new  life  lived  through  that  wonderful  love, 
That  came   down  to  earth  from  the  Throne  above, 
To  woman  and  man  giving  equal  place, 
In  the  plan  of  salvation  and  saving  grace, 

Through  Christ  our  Saviour  in  Bethlehem  born. 


AS    THE    POETS    SING. 


Man  sings  of  a  love  that  dies  with  the  years, 
Restless,  exacting,  and  threaded  with  tears, 

However  sweet. 


Woman  sings  of  a  love  that  knows  no  fears, 
A  love  exalting — a  joy  through  tears, 

And  wondrous  great. 


Man  sings  of  bright  eyes,  of  a  sylph-like  form, 
Of  rosy  cheeks  and  their  dimpled  charm;  — 

Her  fair  sweet  face. 


Woman  sings  of  soft  airs,  and  deep  blue  skies, 
Of  the  birds  and  flowers,  that  'neath  them  lies, 

Fair  nature's  grace. 


22 


Man  sings  of  the  rights  of  church  and  state, 
Of  works  and  deeds,  his  power  makes  great : 

Honor  and  place. 


Woman  sings  of  duties  with  love  that  sways, 
And  inclines  the  many  to  wiser  ways, 

With  winning  grace. 


While  e'er  is  the  aim  of  all  true  and  great, 
To  strengthen  and  to  higher  estate 

Uplift  our  race, 


To  where  beauties  of  truth  and  goodness  shine, 
With  light  that  draws  up  to  the  Divine, 


By  God's  sweet  grace. 


THE    GREAT    POET. 


True  to  his  art  is  nature's  great  poet, 

He  lives  in  the  world's  pure  and  best  things  : 

Of  its  beauties,  its  marvels,  and  splendors, 
And  its  wonderful  forces  he  sings. 

And  as  fall  on  the  screen  the  rainbow  hues, 

When  the  sun-ray  has  passed  through  the  prism  ; 

So  these  beautiful  scenes  pass  through  his  thoughts, 
And  on  the  heart  fall  in  delicate  rythm. 

And  his  pictures  gleam  with  grace  of  the  day, 
Sweeter  than  bird-song  is  his  measure  ; 

We  hear  the  strains  of  the  low-breathing  winds, 
And  the  echoes  of  sorrow  and  pleasure. 

i 

How  tender  are  rose-shades  in  his  day's  dawn, 
When  the  sky-lark  sings  full  in  its  flush, 

And  how  rich  the  deep  tones  of  his  sunsets, 
Which  are  thrilled  by  the  song  of  the  thrush. 


A  charm  he  weaves  in,  to  the  still  throbbing  hours 
Of  a  dreamy  long  white  sunny  noon, 

When  summer  winds  die  in  the  cool  green  woods, 
And  silenced  are  the  song-birds  of  June. 

And  he  sings — the  sweet  joys  of  a  day, 

That  is  fairer  and  purer  than  ours  ; 
Where  our  strength  lies  ;    and  fruition  of  hopes, 

That  spangle  our  path  here  with  flowers. 

So  paint,  as  you  sing,  great  and  true  poet ! 

Let  the  world  overflow  with  your  songs, 
Till  its  heart,  with  love,  joys  in  your  scenes, 

And  forgets  all  its  sadness  and  wrongs. 


THE    POET'S    THOUGHT. 


It  speeds  as  can  thought,  and  on  buoyant  wings, 

It  revels  in  best  and  fairest  of  things, 

Then  dives  to  the  deepest  of  hidden  springs  : 

In  its  swift-winged  flight  there  can  be  no  bar, 

For  in  boundless  space  it  wanders  afar, 

In  fleetness  it  wearies  the  morning  star. 

It  gathers  the  greatness  and  weaves  it  in, 
With  touches  of  grace  without  and  within  ; 
And  brings  to  our  minds  with  blessings  therein, 
Truths,  new  and  old,  from  the  fountain's  deep  flow, 
We  drink  in  their  light,  we  live  in  their  glow, 
And  long,  up  to  these,  in  greatness  to  grow. 

4 
It  reaches  the  heart  of  the  world  of  light, 

The  sadness  and  gloom  of  its  darkest  night, 

And  sees  where  are  fostered  the  seeds  of  right, 

For  whether  within,  or  over  the  world, 

It  seeks  for  the  truth  in  every  mold, 

And  brings  us  a  boon  more  precious  than  gold. 


26 


Wise  is  the  poet,  and  great  is  his  thought, 

For  beauty  of  truth  he  ever  has  sought, 

And  greatest  and  best  to  the  world  he  has  brought 

And  ever  will  live  his  musical  rhyme, 

With  the  sweetest  songs  of  nature  to  chime 

And  bless  human  lives  through  the  years  of  time. 


MUSICIANS. 


Fair  nature's  grand  harmonies,  they  voice 
In  her  many,  and  varied  sweet  sounds, 

From  the  thrilling  soft  beat  of  the  stars, 
To  the  sparrow's  low  song  in  our  grounds, 

And  will  sing  in  true  metrical  bars, 
The  symphony  or  lay  of  our  choice. 

They  voice  the  low  sigh  of  the  zephyr, 

As  it  breathes  through  the  leafy  green  woods, 

Or  the  winds  as  they  burst  from  their  caves, 
In  their  strong  and  loud-swelling  storm  moods, 

Sweeping  over  the  ocean's  wild  waves 
'Till  they  die  in  a  musical  whisper. 

They  voice  in  their  cadence  and  metre, 
Nature's  song  in  her  joys  to  our  ears, 

As  they  gush  from  the  nightingales'  throats, 
Or  in  whirl  of  the  swift-rolling  spheres; 

And  their  heaven-born  musical  notes, 

Voice,  sounds  to  the  ear  of  man  sweeter. 


28 


And  these  fall  as  sweet  charms  on  our  ears, 
To  cheer  and  uplift  by  their  sway, 

Melt  our  hearts  with  the  God-praising  psalm, 
Till  our  night  fleets  away  into  day, 

In  delight  that  lives  with  us  to  calm, 

And  strengthen  through  life's  varying  years. 


THE  SINGERS. 


SO,    SING    YOUR    SONGS 


Oh,  sing  your  songs,  light  heart,  light  heart, 
While  morn  with  rose-buds  toy  ! 

So,  sing  your  songs,  light  heart,  light  heart, 
With  golden  trills  of  joy  ! 


Oh,  sing  your  songs,  sad  heart,  sad  heart, 

In  pensive  tones  and  low  ! 
So,  sing  your  songs,  sad  heart,  sad  heart, 

While  angels  o'er  you  bow  ! 

Oh,  sing  your  songs,  sweet  heart,  sweet  heart, 

Let  each  in  rapture  move  ! 
So,  sing  your  songs,  sweet  heart,  sweet  heart, 

In  tender  tones  of  love  ! 

Oh,  sing  your  songs,  bruised  heart,  bruised  heart, 

Waiting  a  better  day  ! 
So,  sing  your  songs,  bruised  heart,  bruised  heart, 

'Till  hope-beams  o'er  you  play  ! 


Oh,  sing  your  songs,  brave  heart,  brave  heart, 

In  thraldom  true  and  strong  ! 
So,  sing  your  songs,  brave  heart,  brave  heart, 

'Till  right  rules  out  the  wrong  ! 


Oh,  sing  your  songs,  faint  heart,  faint  heart, 

With  e'er  uplifted  eyes  ! 
So,  sing  your  songs,  faint  heart,  faint  heart, 

There's  light  above  the  skies  ! 


Oh,  sing  your  songs,  great  heart,  great  heart, 

In  sweetest  strains  of  grace  ! 
So,  sing  your  songs,  great  heart,  great  heart, 

All  sorrows  to  efface  ! 


LIEBCHEN  AND  THE  COMPOSERS. 


With  her  fair  face  against  the  window, 

Peering  out  into  the  gloom, 
Stood  a  slender,  tall,  young  maiden, 

In  a  dimly  lighted  room. 

A  yellow  fog  and  chilling  mist 

Swept  through  the  narrow  lonely  street, 
That  half-hid  the  broken  pavement, 

Where  the  watchman  held  his  beat. 


Anxiously  she  watched  and  waited, 
For  the  coming  of  her  sire  ; 

With  no  cheering  evening  welcome, 
With  no  coals  to  light  a  fire. 

While  on  the  plain  and  small  table, 
Covered  lay  their  only  crust ; 

Covered  to  hide  its  meagreness, 
As  to  protect  it  from  the  dust. 


33 
So  it  would  seem  that  food  was  left; 

If  in  this  day's  weary  round, 
Her  father  had,  as  in  week's  past, 

No  sale  for  his  music  found. 

And  of  the  early  friend  no  trace, 

He  expected  here  to  find  ; 
While  pinching  want  and  waning  means, 

Had  worn  on  his  anxious  mind. 

When  her  father  came  the  tale  was  told, 

In  his  wan  despairing  look, 
And  this  terrified  the  daughter, 

'Till  she  with  keen  anguish  shook. 

Then  quickly  formed  was  her  resolve, 

Nobly  pressing  back  her  tears, 
And  with  strength  born  of  the  crisis, 
•  She  put  away  timid  fears. 

Gently  soothing,  and  caressing, 

To  her  father,  kind  and  dear, 
Said,  "Please  now,  lie  down  and  rest  thee, 

I  will  go  to  some  place  near, 


5 


34 

And  bring  in,  while  you  are  sleeping. 

Fuel  for  a  fire  and  light:  — 
Bring  some  bread  and  tea  for  supper, 

Ere  'tis  later  in  the  night." 

He  was  so  weak,  from  want  and  hunger, 
With  the  exhaustion  of  despair  ; 

He  was  benumbed  to  forgetting, 
She  had  no  pence  for  light  or  fire. 

Then  she  took  up  her  light  guitar, — 
When  his  eyes  saw  not  the  deed  ;  — 

Ran  out  through  the  street  so  narrow, 
To  broad  ways  with  rapid  speed. 

Ran  with  haste,  with  deer-like  fleetness, 
By  narrow  streets  and  alleys, 

Round  the  places,  dark  and  noisy, 
By  weird  and  dreaded  byways. 

With  no  thought  or  fear  of  danger, 

Only  of  love  and  duty ; 
Now  so  intent  on  her  errand, 

Urged  by  their  necessity. 


35 
Then  stayed  her  steps  to  look  around, 

In  a  large  and  quiet  place, 
Where  she  heard  no  nearing  footsteps, 

Saw  not  either  form  or  face. 

'Till  towards  a  tall  house   looking, 

Where  a  window  opened  low ; 
She  within  the  room  saw  plainly, 

Some  one  moving  to  and  fro. 

Then  she  placed  herself  before  it, 
Thrumming  strings  of  the  Guitar: 

She  sang  a  sweet  and  thrilling  song, 
It  rang  out  clearly  on  the  air. 

Intently  looking  through  the  window. 
Saw  two  men  the  room  within  ;  — 

One  as  startled,  coming  forward, 
Asked  the  singer  to  "come  in." 

Her  hand  then  taking,  led  her  in 

To  the  warm  and  glowing  light, 
Asked,  "why  with  such  voice  do  you  sing, 

Out  in  the  cold,  cheerless  night." 


36 

"And  where  did  you  learn  the  music. 

You  have  rendered  now  so  well?" 
Then  to  himself,  "no  one  knew  this, 

None  but  he  these  strains  could  tell." 

"Oh,  it  was  my  father  taught  me, 

This  is  his  favorite  song, 
Written  by  the  great  composer, 

His  friend,  he  has  loved  so  long. 

When  once  more  with  his  piano, 
She  for  him  sang  the  sweet  song ; 

He  asked,  "Where  now  is  your  father? 
What  has  compelled  this  great  wrong? 

"Ah,  but  you  look  so  pale  and  faint, 
Let  me  some  refreshment  bring ; 

Or  come  in  and  dine  at  the  table 
I  left,  when  I  heard  you  sing. 

"When  refreshment  you  have  taken, 
You  shall  tell  me  of  your  life, 

Of  your  father,  what  his  fate  is, 
Of  his  lovely,  noble  wife." 


37 
Then  she  told  him  all  the  story, — 

Briefly  as  it  could  be  given;  — 
Of  their  far  home,  so  sad  and  lone 
When  her  mother  went  to  heaven. 

How  her  father's  heart  was  crushed, 
So  he  could  do  naught  but  grieve  ; 

And  he  said,  "Work  here  I  cannot, 
So  'tis  best  that  I  should  leave, 

"And  go  to  my  friend  in  London." 

To  him  he  so  dearly  loved, 
Who  ever  from  their  boyhood  days, 

A  kind  and  true  friend  had  proved. 

How  he  came  to  this  strange  city, 

Came  his  early  friend  to  find, 
Of  his  vain  search,  his  loss  and  want, 

And  his  now  sad  state  of  mind. 

Of  his  effort  to  sell  music, 

When  his  money  was  all   gone  ; 
That  none  here  would  buy  a  copy, 

Of  one  who  was  so  unknown. 


38 

In  undertone,  said  the  listener, 

"This  music  is  his  work  of  years  ; 
Of  which  he  is  so  great  a  master, 
As  admit  of  no  compeers." 

"I  may  know  your  father,"  said  he, 
"Let  us  hasten  now  to  him;" 

Gotlieb,  his  son,  then  advancing, 
Offers  to  go  out  with  them. 

When  again  that  door  was  opened, 
Which  had  closed  with  hearts  so  sad, 

Happiness  and  light  now  entered, 
For  each  one  was  truly  glad. 

They  found  her  sire  as  she  left  him, 
But  when  he  lifted  up  his  eyes  ; 

To  know  the  friends  who  stood  by  him, 
Joy  was  mingled  with  surprise. 

It  banished  the  pain  and  sadness — 
Banished  all  the  settled  gloom  ; 

And  transformed  to  warmth  and  brightness 
Their  cold,  bare  and  cheerless  room. 


39 
Words  of  cheer  and  explanations  ; — 

Then,  assured  that  all  was  right, 
They  were  left  to  quiet  comfort, 

And  a  restful  peace  that  night. 

And  when  had  passed  the  freighted  hours 

Of  that  strange,  eventful  night; 
Which  came  in  fraught  with  bitter  pain, 

That  was  lost  in  joy's  delight. 

That  in  memory,  as  mixed  dreams, 
Would  ever  live — morning  broke  ; 

But  to  a  sense  of  happiness, 
The  suffering  ones  awoke. 

Woke  to  new  hope  and  confidence, 

The  master  fresh  courage  took; 
Whose  nature  was  so  retiring, 

Must  for  strength  to  others  look. 

And  retiring  had  been  his  life, 

WTith  no  thought  or  wish  to  roam  ; 

This  had  been  his  only  venture, 
From  his  early  quiet  home. 


40 

Unlike  ways  of  the  elder  master, 

Who  had  been  from  zone  to  zone  ; 
So  was  his  name,  as  his  wide  fame, 

Far  o'er  many  nations  known. 

But  he  came  back  to  work,  content, 
For  he  finer  views  had  gained, 

To  fill  in  his  grand  thought  pictures, 
Now  in  outline  only  framed. 

Or  his  loved  friend  would  have  found  him, 
When  he  reached  old  England's  shore, 

\Vhere  the  "unknowrn  master's"  music 
Would  be  prized  yet  more  and  more. 

He  well  knew  the  worth  and  merit 
Of  his  friend,  knew  he  would  gain, 

Fame,  with  place  his  genius  needed, — 
Fitting  field  to  conquer  in. 

And  here  it  lay  just  before  him, 
Now  he  could  point  out  the  way, 

With  no  rivalry  or  conflict — 

Each  to  the  other,  would  be  stay. 


While  happy  thinking  out  his  plans 
For  himself,  and  for  his  friend  ; 

Was  he  weaving  in  some  fancies, 

Where  Gotlieb  and  Liebchen  blend? 

He  saw  Gotlieb's  strong  interest, 
In  the  fair,  modest  maiden  ; 

Whose  ready  act  of  sacrifice, 

Had  so  changed  despair  to  heaven. 

And  the  interest  so  awakened, 
Saw  increase  with  passing  days; 

Plainly  was  it  to  him  revealed, 
In  the  many  tell-tale  ways. 

That  incident,  strangely  thrilling, 
Had  made  an  impression  deep  ; 

While  his  music  was  more  dreamy, 
It  with  feeling  was  replete. 

His  earnest  thought,  with  earnest  work, 
His  sire  was  well  pleased  to  note  ; 

Pleased  now  to  think  his  happiness, 
He  easily  could  promote. 


42 

When  his  friend  with  oratorio 

Yet  unfinished,  to  him  came  ; 
Listening  to  counsel,  to  him  said, 
"This,  alone  will  bring  you  fame, 

"Now  to  the  work  confine  yourself, 
That  it  ready  be  in  time ; 

This  the  finest  and  best  will  prove 
Of  all  your  great  works  sublime. 

"Then,  if  you  so  will  it,  Gotlieb 
*  Will  hear  the  young  Liebchen  play ; 
He  has  genius,  with  close  study, 
A  name  he  will  make  some  day. 

"If  you  will  consult  my  daughter, 
Tell  her  this  for  me  is  best; 

She  will  consent."     Then  said  smiling, 
"My  centered  hopes  in  you  rest." 

So,  for  his  present,  urgent  work, 
He  had  all  the  needed  time ; 

To  make  ready  the  Christmas  music, 
With  the  Christmas  bells  to  chime. 


43 
The  greatest  and  most  sublime  theme, 

A  Christ's  coming  to  save  man  ; 
Theme,  sweet  as  the  song  angels  sang, 

When  God  revealed  his  great  plan. 

That  should  be  proclaimed  in  music, 

To  anthem  and  carol  sweet ; 
As  in  the  grand  and  noble  form 

Of  oratorio  is  meet. 

Maid  and  masters,  now  we  leave  them, 

They  to  the  wide  world  belong ; 
Famed  for  greatness, — they  have  brightened 

All  its  nations  with  their  song. 


AN    INCIDENT    IN    THE    LIFE 
OF    JENNY    L1ND. 


It  was  when  the  woods  of  Norseland, 
With  the  frost  and  snow  were  crowned  : 

And  far  up  the  rocky  hillsides, 
Gloomy  shadows  darkly  frowned. 

When  the  cold  north  winds  were  blowing, 
From  the  frozen  Arctic  region, 

Down  throughout  the  Danish  valleys. 
To  the  homes  of  Copenhagen. 

That  the  sweetest  of  Swede  singers, 
In  the  spring-time  of  her  fame, 

Thither  came,  but  unthinking 
History  would  record  the  same. 

She  had  melted  hearts  of  thousands 

By  the  secret  of  her  power ; 
Then  her  voice  for  strcnglri  and   richness 

Was  unrivaled  in  its  dower. 


45 
So,  a  throng  of  music  lovers 

Filled  the  spacious  hall,  that  night, 
And  they  listened  to  the  singer 

With  a  new  and  rare  delight. 

A  mystic  thrill  of  sympathy 

Touched  every  listening  ear, — 
And  they  knew  her  heart  was  open 

To  the  needy,  far  and  near. 

Yet  unthought  they,  of  the  city's 

Sorely  tried  and  suffering  poor: 
But  she  had  heard  the  cry  of  orphans, 

And  her  plan  was  quick  and  sure. 

So,  in  palace  hall  and  cottage, 

As  upon  the  crowded  street, 
It  was  soon  known  that  she  would  sing 

For  the  children's  benefit. 

She  sang,  not  for  the  world's  applause, 

In  that  cheerless  winter's  night; 
But  to  fill  the  hearts  of  children 

With  new  pleasure  and  delight. 


46 

The  sweetest  songs  she  selected, 

Of  all  the  songs  she  had  sung ; 
As  prescient,  that  memory 

Would  linger  the  chords  among. 

And  happiness,  then  saw  the  singer, 
In  the  proceeds,  brightly  shine  ; 

As  she  had  seen  in  the  singing 
That  childhood  would  interline. 

So,  with  a  heart  full  of  delight, 

While  her  eyes  with  rapture  shone, 

She  clasped  her  hands  in  ecstacy, 
Exclaiming  in  joyous  tone  : 

"Oh,  is  it  not  beautiful  ! 

Beautiful  that  I  can  so  sing?" 
Hut  she  thought  less  of  the  pleasure, 


Than  of  the  good  it  would  bring. 


A  woman  with  heart  so  tender, 
Self- forgetting  with  her  gifts, 

Will  see  the  dark  hours  of  others 
And  let  sunshine  through  the  rifts 


47 
But  the  passing  moments  fleeing, 

Brought  the  singing  to  a  close, 
Kind  hearts  and  hands  had  been  opened, 

Ere  that  vast  assemblage  rose. 

Only  a  pleasant  memory, 

Is  her  sweetest  song  to-day; 
Hut  her  kindly  deeds  are  living, 

All  along  life's  rugged  way. 


PARAPA  ROSA  AND  LITTLE  ELFIN 


The  sweet  tones  had  died  away, 

The  last  grand  notes  had  been  sung 

And  the  thunders  of  applause 
Out  on  the  air  had  rung. 

And  from  each  point  of  egress, 

The  dense  crowd  was  pouring  out, 

The  hum  of  voices  mingling 
With  the  Cabman's  loud  shout. 


When  little  pale-faced  Elfin 
Stood  waiting  by  the  door, — 

Waiting  for  the  sweet-voiced  singer, 
To  ofTer  her  a  flower. 


And  when  he  saw  her  coming, 
Stepped  quickly  to  her  side  ; 

And  stood  looking  anxiously, 
His  large  eyes  opening  wide. 


49 
Pleading  eyes;    the  while  he  asked, 

In  an  earnest,  eager  tone, 
"Will  you  have  my  little  flower? 

I  have  brought  for  you,  alone." 

And  as  she  kindly  took  the  flower, 

Said,  "So,  you  heard  me  sing." 
"Yes,  I  hid  beneath  the  stair," 

To  him  was  an  angel's  wing. 

"And  the  music  was  so  sweet," 

And  so  great  was  his  surprise, 
That  he  knewr  not  how,  or  where, 

But  "was  in  a  paradise." 

Then  in  her  sweet,  loving  way, 

And  her  voice  was  full  of  cheer, 
Said,  "At  five  o'clock  to-morrow, 

Be  sure  to  meet  me  here." 

So,  in  that  evening  later, 

At  the  time  of  concert  hour, 
In  the  box,  for  him  chosen, 

Sat  the  giver  of  the  flower. 


50 

Dark  eyes  with  pleasure  beaming". 

As  around  him  now  there  floats, 
The  gentle,  sweet-voiced  singer's 

Full,  rich  and  tender  notes. 

With  the  trills  and  soft  warble, 
And  the  higher,  rolling  swell ; 

While  the  soft  gaze  of  Elfin 
Then  wavered  not,  nor  fell. 

And  his  heart  was  satisfied, — 

In  an  ecstacy  of  bliss  ; 
It  was  joy  he  had  not  known, — 

Fullness  of  delight  was  his. 

And  when  to  sing  the  last  song, 
Came  the  singer  in  the  light, 
Wearing  the  pure  white  lily, 

That  he  gave  her  yesternight. 

• 

Loud  peals  of  applause  went  up, 
From  the  densely  crowded  throng, 

As  if  they  would  crown  her  queen 
Of  sweet  pity,  love  and  song. 


5 

Then  with  one  kind  glance  at  him, 
She  sang  in  tones  full  and  grand  ; 

Sang  his  much  loved  little  song, 

The  now  famed,  "Farewell,  sweet  land." 

That  oft,  with  his  violin, 

On  the  city's  crowded  street, 
He  had  sung  'neath  spring's  sunshine, 

And  'neath  winter's  rain  and  sleet 

And  across  the  wailing  strings, 

Little  Elfin  drew  his  bow, 
While  low  plaintive  sobs  and  tears 

Seemed  through  the  house  to  flow. 

And  this  appeal  was  so  strong, 

To  best  feelings  of  each  heart: 
They  were  ready  with  their  gifts  ; 

For  many  wished  to  have  part, 

In  helping  the  noble  woman, 

So,  to  carry  out  her  plan, 
That  the  sweet  love  in  the  youth, 

Be  perfected  in  the  man. 


52 

And  then  the  little  hunchback 

Soon  forgot  his  mis-shaped  looks, 
With  his  kind' and  skillful  teacher, — 

His  music  and  his  books. 

Oh,  was  this  deed  prophetic, 
Of  that  future  time,  so  near, 

When  her  voice  in  memory, 
Would  be  so  cherished  here. 

And  not  only  her  sweet  voice, 
So  perfected  in  her  art, 

But  in  memory  is  cherished 
Her  noble,  loving  heart. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


IN    AUTUMN. 


The  pale  sun  breaks,  over  the  browning  hills, 
And  flashes  his  light  on  rivers  and  rills  : 
The  meadows  are  sere,  that  late  were  so  fair, 
And  bracingly  cool  is  the  sharp  frost-air. 

In  woods,  the  hunter  is  winding  his  horn  : 
And  down  'mid  the  sheaves  of  the  golden  corn, 
The  blue  jay  with  chickadee  sings  his  tune, 
Cheery  as  the  summer-birds  sing  in  June. 

And  the  squirrels  climb  the  tree-branches  o'er, 
To  gather  the  nuts  for  their  winter  store, 
While  the  ripened  nuts  fall  on  the  crisp  brown  leaves, 
And  the  spider  his  web  'mid  the  sweet  fern  weaves. 

The  grass  fields  are  dry,  and  dry  is  the  plain, 
Where  waved  in  summer  the  yellow-ripe  grain  : 
And  where  the  convolvulus  trailed  her  blue  bells, 
The  thistle  has  blown  its  puffy  white  balls. 


55 

The  orchards  are  bright  with  their  ripened  fruit — 
Though  wilted  or  withered  is  each  grass  shoot — 
Gay  with  the  yellow,  the  green  and  the  red, 
Where  the  spring-time  flowers  were  long  ago  dead. 

In  the  sun-bright  pastures,  sturdy  and  true, 
Blooms  the  golden-rod  and  the  aster  blue, 
And  here  and  there  flowerets  in  some  warm  nook, 
When  near  the  copse  winds  a  soft-flowing  brook. 

They  open  their  trusting,  bright,  starry  eyes, 
As  though  o'er  them  rolled  the  warm  summer  skies, 
But  soon  there  will  come  a  sharp,  frosty  night, 
When  their  heads  will  droop  ere  the  morning  light. 

But  over  the  hill,  grey  with  moss  and  stone, 
With  its  clustered  balls,  stands  hardy  and  lone, 
Through  the  frost  and  cold  and  rain-cloud  gloom, 
The  white  everlasting  in  fadeless  bloom. 


FANCIES. 

'WHERE   ARE   THE    GOLDEN    FANCIES?' 


The  golden  fancies,  where  do  they  hide? 
That  beautify  verse,  as  flowers  abide : 
We  long  for  their  glow,  but  long  in  vain, 
When  our  Muse  withholds  the  starry  rain. 

The  golden  fancies  with  airy  wings, 
That  shimmer  through  song,  the  poet  sings, 
The  music  filling  with  beautiful  light, 
And  wafting  it  heavenward  in  their  flight. 

Oh,  where  shall  we  find  their  fairy  bowers, 

And  why  hide  they,  when  in  longing  hours, 

We  would  weave  them  in,  with  thought's  clear  thread 

Tuning  the  rhyme  to  their  airy  tread. 

Ah,  the  golden  fancies,  that  fill  the  brain, 
Of  him  who  sings  an  immortal  strain, 
Are  as  glories  dropped  from  out  the  skies, 
To  star  truth's  way  in  its  upward  rise. 


57 

Lovers  of  beauty,  ever  be  true 
To  the  wondrous  gift  that  is  given  you, 
And  wait  in  patience,  with  earnest  faith, 
For  the  golden  fancies  to  cross  your  path. 

For,  when  they  come,  the  singer  will  sing 
A  song  that  down  through  the  years  willing : 
For  thought  aglow  with  their  golden  shower 
Will  wield  a  sceptre  of  mighty  power. 


WHEN  THE  HEART  IS  IN  TUNE. 


As  in  sunlit  days  of  June, — 

Bloom  the  flowers  in  rosy  sheen, 
Sweet  with  dew  in  meadows  green,- 
So  flit  the  hours  with  golden  wings 
That  sweet  gladness  to  us  brings  : 
Everywhere  is  music's  ring, 
And  beauty  gleams  in  everything, 

Whene'er  the  heart  is  in  tune.' 


As  summer-night's  stars  and  moon 
Silver  o'er  the  water-brooks. 
Lapsing  out  from  shady  nooks, 
So  o'er  duties,  cares  of  life, 
Sweet  love,  with  its  goodness  rife, 
Lifts  its  softened  glory-light, 
That  e'er  to  us  fresh  delight 

Gives,  when  the  heart  is  in  tune. 


59 

As  from  bard  an  ancient  rune, 
Rippling  down  from  elder  years, 
Falls  in  music  on  our  ears, 
Like  a  long-forgotten  song, 
Whose  sweet  notes  we  would  prolong; 
So  is  singing  through  our  days, 
For  God's  gifts  our  songs  of  praise ; 

Glad  when  the  heart  is  in  tune. 


HERITAGE. 


In  the  world  the  call  to  labor, 

In  a  broad  or  narrow  field, 
Comes  to  us  by  grace  of  favor, 

That  each  life  some  good  may  yield. 

To  labor  for  race  or  nation, 

With  our  earnest  words  and  deeds, 
Help  the  high  or  low  in  station, 

As  we  can  supply  the  needs. 

Working  each  to  help  the  other 

Onward  in  the  way  of  life, 
With  love  binding  hearts  together, 

Lessen  burdens  in  the  strife. 

Working  for  the  sure  advancement, 
Of  each  good  and  worthy  plan, 

To  spread  light,  that  like  enchantment, 
Will  bless  and  ennoble  man. 


6r 
Kind  nature  brings  to  us  a  dower, 

Nor  e'er  can  we  this  mistake, 
Who  uses  best  his  gifts  and  power, 

He  is  wise  and  truly  great. 

Some  may  cleave  the  way  to  freedom, 
Who  are  brave  and  strong  of  heart, 

While  others  may  bravely  aid  them, 
Working  well  in  minor  part ; 

Rough  ways  smoothing  to  paths  brighter, 

For  the  masses  as  the  few, 
Building  up  to  purpose  higher, 

From  the  old  things  to  the  new. 

Paths  to  knowledge  cutting  broader, 
Strengthening  each  weaker  part, 

Foundations  laying,  firmer,  surer, 
Reaching  up  to  higher  art. 

So  will  our  lives  all  be  greater, 

Surging  on  the  waves  of  time, 
And  hearts  beat  in  grander  measure, 

Climbing  up  God's  ways  sublime. 


PERSEVERANCE    CONQUERS 
ALL   THINGS. 

"  Perseverantia    \^incit  Omncs" 

For  power  in  paths  of  knowledge  to  climb, 

Equal  may  seem  our  gift, 
'Till  light  breaks  in  on  a  chosen  way, 

As  sun-rays  through  a  cloud-rift. 

Then  for  the  riches  that  deeply  lie,  — 
We  search  with  new,  strong  light, 

Each  rock-vein  and  the  bright-colored  seam,  — 
Wealth  to  bring  from  its  night. 

Search  with  a  hitherto  unknown  faith, 

Certain  that  we  shall  win  ; 
\Vith  a  trust  and  faith  so  near  divine, 

Doubt  cannot  enter  in. 


gather  the  water  to  find  the  hue, 
That  reveals  the  vein  of  gold, 
We  crush  the  rock  and  wash  out  the  sand, 
Searching  while  years  unfold. 


63 
When  rare  success  our  labor  has  crowned, 

With  truth's  banners  unfurled, 
Wealth,  that  none  but  deep  searchers  can  find, 

We  bring  to  the  waiting  world. 

We  bring  the  gift,  it  gladly  receives 

What  opens  new  domain, 
And  hails  a  genius  in — result  of  work — 

And  hastes  to  honor  our  name. 

Then  anew  take  heart,  O  student, 

Delver  in  fields  of  thought; 
Success  will  crown  your  earnest  work, 

When  truth  is,  there,  inwrought. 


ASPHODEL. 


Sweet  flower  of  feeling  that  imprisoned  lies, 
Hidden  deep  in  the  heart  from  searching  eyes, — 
What  force  shall  reach  thee  in  thy  deep,  deep  well, 
And  burst  thee  into  bloom,  my  asphodel  ! 

Fair  flower  of  thought  shelved  away  in  the  mind, 
Where  lies  the  power  to  free  thee,  and  unbind 
The  summer-dried  crust  of  the  toughened  bell, 
Till  thou  burst  in  beauty,  my  asphodel ! 

Burst  to  brighten  and  the  sweet  notes  prolong, 
Of  chords  thou  mayst  touch  in  higher-hymned  song, 
While  thou  glidest  in  music  of  cadence  and  swell, 
'Till  thou   burst  to  sing,  my  asphodel  ! 

In  flower-sweet  song  that  the  listener  will  love, 
And  will  hold  in  his  heart  till  a  spring  shall  move, 
And  break  up  the  depths  in  a  wonderful  swell — 
Oh,  thou  heaven  sent  gift,  my  asphodel  ! 


GOLDEN    MOMENTS. 


There  are  golden  moments  in  every  life  ! 
Moments  that  are  with  rich  blessings  rife  ; 
May  we  watch  their  coming  as  with  eagle's  eye, 
Seize  and  use  them  ere  they  pass  us  by. 

They  flit  as  they  come  on  their  golden  wings, 
Leaving  us  sad  amid  brightest  things. 
And  they  bruise  our  hearts  with  regretful  pain, 
For  we  know  these  ne'er  can  come  again. 

The  golden  moment  some  wrong  to  make  right, 
Some  doubtful  matter  make  clear  as  light, 
Perhaps  a  mistake  another  may  feel, 
Or  difference  we  may  timely  heal. 

The  golden  moment,  one  to  help  and  save, 
Who  is  on  the  brink  of  ruin's  grave, 
And  bring  back  to  the  world  of  joy  so  bright, 
Where  hopes  spring  anew  to  make  the  heart  light. 


66 

The  weary,  sad  and  despairing  to  point, 
To  the  Love  that  wounded  hearts  will  anoint, 
To  the  Love  that  forever  will  endure, 
And  peace  and  joy  forever  insure. 

The  golden  moment,  when  we  may  receive 
Good,  transcending  our  power  to  give, 
When  some  heart,  drifting  'tween  doubt  and  fear, 
Hears  Love's  soft  voice  in  our  words  of  cheer. 

The  golden  moment,  when  a  chosen  word, 
Shall  pierce  the  wrong,  like  a  two-edged  sword, 
And  in  the  place  shall  transcendant  shine, 
Faith  in  its  beauty  of  light  divine. 

The  golden  moment  that  appeals  to  the  soul, 
To  receive  God's  stamp  for  the  heavenly  goal, 
When  destiny  hangs  as  held  by  a  hair, 
Nor  waits  for  the  wherefore,  the  when  or  where. 

The  golden  moment  with  its  two-fold  room, 
Freighted  with  life  or  with  endless  doom, 
May  we  heed  and  hold,  nor  let  it  pass  by, 
For  its  golden  freight  may  give  joy  for  aye. 


RESPONSIBILITY. 


Riches  and  honor  and  rank  and  power, 
He  who  holds  these  has  a  kingly  dower: 
When  he  is  wise  to  whom  they  are  given, 
Then  their  good  use  brings  him  nearer  heaven. 

A  fountain  of  good  each  may  be  made, 
To  the  needs  of  every  race  and  grade, 
To  high  and  low,  the  wayward  and  weak, 
The  proud,  the  halting,  the  fearing  and  meek. 

Talents  increase  by  their  use  we  know, 
And  we  shall  reap,  as  ever  we  sow, 
For  each  kind  deed  we  do  for  the  poor, 
Love  comes  to  renew  and  bless  our  store. 

Crowned  with  honor  is  every  good  man, 
This  is  God's  high  and  most  gracious  plan, 
And  He  all-powerful  love  displays, 
In  giving  best  rule  to  guide  our  ways. 


68 

Rank  and  position  in  power  have  share, 
Let  those  who  hold  their  ways  rule  with  care. 
For  influence  in  good  or  ill  we  give, 
With  those  who  receive  will  ever  live. 


While  riches  and  honor,  rank  and  power, 
Are  things  of  our  life  that  last  its  hour, 
And  must  with  its  days  e'er  pass  away:  — 
Result  of  our  deeds  will  live  alway. 


COMPENSATION. 


We  start  with  one  in  a  race  ; 

The  other  exhausted  may  win, 
But  by  less  speed  in  the  course, 

We  find  health  and  pleasure  therein. 

There's  a  hight  we  would  attain, 
To  reach  is  a  coveted  prize  ; 

By  climbing  we  see  other  points, 
Richer  in  beauty  arise. 

We  strive  for  a  rare  success, 

And  fail,  but  to  find  greater  good, 

Hidden  beside  this  pathway, 

We  could  find  by  no  other  road. 

So,  of  life's  friendships  and  loves, 
We  gain  less  by  that  we  receive, 

But  ever  more  in  proportion, 
As  we  to  others  shall  give. 


THE    RAIN. 


Drop,  drop,  drop  against  the  pane, 
Listen  to  the  gentle  rain  ; 
So,  soft  and  low,  low  and  sweet, 
Soothing  senses  all  to  sleep. 

Drop,  drop,  drop  against  the  pane, 
Gentle  musical  refrain  : 
Drop,  drop,  drop,  so  soft  and  clear, 
Pleasant  music  to  my  ear. 

So,  drop,  drop,  drop,  keeping  time, 
To  the  low  and  silvery  chime, 
Of  the  bells  in  yonder  tower, 
Ringing  out  the  passing  hour. 

And  drop,  drop,  drop,  bringing  flowers, 
By  your  warm  and  gentle  showers  ; 
Bringing  fairy  troops  that  lay, 
Gemming  all  the  ground  in  May: 


Through  the  valley,  in  the  glade, 
Where  our  loved  one,  now,  is  laid  : 
For  we  laid  her  down  to  sleep — 
And  we  wait :   while  heart  doth  weep. 

So,  drop,  drop,  drop,  gentle  rain, 
Call  out  lovely  flowers  again  : 
As  our  dear  God,  in  his  love, 
Called  our  flower  to  bloom  above. 


PROVIDENCE. 


The  sky  is  cloudless,  the  day  is  fair, 
The  long  billows  roll,  in  clear  salt  air, 
The  waves  foam-crested  with  sunbeams  play, 
And  the  good  ship  sails  without  me  to-day. 

The  fast  train  goes  out,  and  I  must  wait 
For  a  note,  that  comes  an  hour  too  late:  — 
I  turn — O  the  joy — to  grasp  the  hands 
Of  the  brother,  just  home  from  far-off  lands. 

The  ship  was  lost  in  a  heavy  gale, 
With  only  one  left  to  tell  the  tale  :  — 
Long  was  the  roll  of  wounded  and  slain, 
Of  those  who  went  down  in  the  moving  train. 

Hut  the  brother  brought  me,  that  afternoon, 
With  his  new  great  love,  a  priceless  boon  ; 
And  his  faith  shall  be  mine,  forever  more, 
'Till  we  meet  again,  on  the  stainless  shore. 


THE    RIGHT. 


In  all  the  matter  of  life  and  its  ways, 
That  rules  with  many  or  with  the  few  sways, 
Wherever  the  question  of  right  comes  in, 
Is  wrong  to  oppose  with  its  thrall  of  sin. 

For  the  wrong  assumes  oft  a  golden  glow, 
That  attracts  and  wins  by  glittering  show  ; 
Like  a  wire  gilt  network,  gauzy  and  thin, 
It  ensnares  the  heedless,  and  holds  them  in. 

And  with  soft  glamor  of  magical  light, 
A  fair  and  specious  appearance  of  right, 
Lures  the  strong  and  gifted  from  the  true  way, 
And  holds  in  the  illusion  their  minds  astray. 

While  the  simple  right,  plain,  and  firm  and  true, — - 
Though  the  false  and  seeming  wear  its  glow  and  hue  ; 
Its  pale  light  burns  steady  and  sure  and  strong, 
To  melt  the  tinsel  and  glamor  of  wrong. 


10 


74 

Its  good  laws  are  fixed  and  firmly  will  stand, 

When  wrong  lies  crushed,  like  wrecked  ships  on  the 

strand  ; 
For  just  is  ever  good  cause  of  the  right, 

And  the  wise  of  the  world  e'er  joy  in  its  might. 


THE    WINGED    HOURS. 


Why  speed  you  so  fleetly,  with  soundless  wings, 
FYom  all  earth's  brightest  and  loveliest  things? 
Why  hasten  away  from  the  sweet  morning  time, 
When  the  sun  spangles  all  things  with  golden   rime? 

Why  speed  away  with  the  moments'  swift  tread. 
That  weave  the  Eternity  with  their  thread? 
They  wait  not  to  hear  the  sweetest  spring  song, 
That  breezes  and  streams  delight  to  prolong. 

Why  speed  with  the  summer-winds  rose-sweet  breath, 
That  waft  sweet  flower-scents  over  the  earth, 
'Till,  to  us,  they  seem  from  Paradise  sent, 
The  sweetness  of  earth  with  heaven's  sweet  blent? 

W7hy  steadily  speed  with  winter  wind's  rush, 
When  frost-stars  it  traces  with  ice-cold  brush? 
Though  the  sun  with  fierce  glances  these  will  pelt, 
'Till  silver-white  spangles  to  tears  will  melt. 


76 

Why  fleet  with  the  motion  of  musical  stars, 

The  still  measured  beat  of  their  symphonic  bars? 

They  thrill  all  nature  with  their  glinting  light, 

When  left  by  the  sun  in  shadows  of  night. 

And  our  lives  fleet  with  you,  O  winged  hours, 
With  winds'  speed  and  stars'  speed  and  moments' 

showers, 

In  Eternity's  path,  to  your  throbbing  song, 
While  to  the  dear  God  our  life's  hours  belong. 

And  with  the  Universe,  O  winged  hours, 
Your  swift  pulse-beats  throb, — as  these  hearts  of  ours 
With  nature's  heart,  throb, — and  the  notes  you  prolong 
In  one  grand,  universal,  harmonious  song. 


TO    YOUTH. 


O  youth  !   with  hearts  beating  and  throbbing 

For  the  battle  of  life, 
With  your  earnest  longings  to  enter 

Its  arena  of  strife, 
With  bright  hopes  and  strong  faith  that  the  future, 

Your  best  wishes  shall  crown, 
And  good  work  bring  you  love  and  respect, 

If  it  bring  not  renown. 

Let  your  hearts  with  lofty  ambition, 

And  high  purpose  be  fired ; 
With  right  and  best  way  of  attainment, 

Let  them  ne'er  become  tired  ; 
But  steadily  onward  and  upward, 

The  way  nobly  pursue, 
And  let  the  goal  waiting  before  you, 

Be  kept  ever  in  view. 


7* 

As  stands  in  open  field  the  young  tree, 

Exposed  to  every  breeze, 
Pointing  its  slender  spire  heavenward,  grows 

Unheeding  things  like  these, 
And  ever  to  higher  room,  reaching, 

Spreads  broad  its  roots  below, 
That  the  winds  and  storms  it  may  buffet, 

And  by  them,  stronger  grow. 


And  when  reigns  the  frosty  cold  winter, 

Firmly,  and  strong,  and  grand, 
With  its  leafless  and  bare  brown  branches, 

Fixed  and  alone  it  will  stand, 
And  wait  the  hard  chilly  frost's  melting, 

By  the  warmth  of  young  spring, 
For  the  brighter  fresh  life  renewal, 

Spring's  sun  and  soft  airs  bring. 


79 
So  stand  !    O  fair  youth,  in  your  young  life, 

And  grow  up  to  your  aim, 
Ever  gaining  in  self-reliance, 
Where  naught  your  heart  can  maim  ; 
In  purity,  lifting  your  standard, 

Brilliant  in  its  white  glow, 
Though  your  strife  be  hot  like  the  summer, 

Your  rest,  cold  as  the  snow. 


Climbing  eagerly,  hights  of  knowledge, 

In  youth's  free-favored  hour, 
'Mid  the  treasure's  searching,  to  find  somewhat 

Of  its  infinite  power, 
While  your  footseps,  in  ways  of  wisdom, 

Move  to  its  rhythmic  rhyme, 
Then  your  life,  with  truth  and  honor  crowned, 

Will  be  greatly  sublime. 


AH    YUTE. 


In  the  far  Orient,  The  Flowery  Land, 
Where  from  India  blow  the  west  breezes  bland  ; 
And  cold  wind, from  the  north-hills  crowned  with  snow, 
That  morning's  first  sunbeams  light  with  their  glow. 

Comes  down  with  broad  sweep  through  the   flowery 

vales, 

And  modifies  heat  with  its  cooling  waves, 
So  that  the  sun,  beaming  down  from  the  sky, 
Does  not  with  its  rays,  the  earth,  parch  and  dry 

Hut  shines  on  a  town  of  the  almond-eyed  race, 
And  smiles  in,  on  Ah  Yute's  crowded  birth-place  ; 
Born  not  of  the  rich,  and  not  of  the  great, 
Hut  among  the  poor  of  lowly  estate. 

Gentle  and  lovely,  fair,  meek  and  mild-eyed, 
Her  life  to  abuse  and  sorrow  allied, 
Sold  by  her  mother,  sold  and  sold  again, 
And  sold  for  the  need  or  the  greed  of  gain. 


8 1 

Lost  to  her  the  love,  the  strongest  of  earth  ; 
Forever  lost  from  the  hour  of  her  birth, 
The  sweet,  all-denying,  strong  mother  love, 
Earth's  type  of  Christ's  great  Sacrificial  Love.' 

That  mother  love,  that  the  nation  makes  great, 
That  lifts  to  the  noblest  of  grand  estate  ; 
Happy  the  child  to  this  heritage  born, 
Who  of  nature's  best  rights  cannot  be  shorn. 

Sad  lot  for  the  mother,  and  sad  for  the  child, 
On  whom  this  sweet  love  has  ne'er  beamed  nor  smiled, 
Who  never  in  the  young  life  lisped  the  prayers, 
That  soothe,  as  the  child  climbs  faith's  golden  stairs. 

Drear  in  her  birth-land,  Ah  Yute's  life  of  dull  pain, 
On  this  far-away  shore  not  greater  the  gain, 
For  cruel  and  harsh,  with  no  manly  grace, 
Was  he,  who  owned  her,  though  of  the  same  race. 

'Till  beaten  and  bruised,  though  young  in  her  years, 
In  torture  of  pain  she  forgot  her  fears, 
Eluding  her  guard  she  flees  to  the  Home, 
Where  woman  and  child  for  safety  may  come. 


And  finds  a  shelter  from  all  brutal  harms, 
In  its  protecting  and  fostering  arms — 
And  here  life  opened  with  many  a  view, 
To  the  gentle  girl,  pleasing,  large  and  new. 

Yet  ne'er  came  back  to  her  vigor  of  life, 
So  long  and  trying  had  been  the  fierce  strife, 
The  glow  sometimes  seen,  as  if  by  a  freak, 
Was  only  the  hectic  bloom  on  her  cheek. 

But  she  had  learned  to  live  in  the  Christian  way, 

To  sing  sweet  hymns,  and  had  learned  to  pray 

A  pardon  for  sin  ;    to  trust  and  to  love  ; 

And  through  faith  she  rests  with  the  Saviour  above. 


LINES. 


When  thrushes  have  sung  their  evening  song 
And  night  shades  into  deepening  gloom, 

I  think  of  the  fleeting  wings  of  the  day, 
And  its  hours  in  fair  sunny  bloom. 

How  it  flits  away  to  the  evening  grey, 
From  the  early  moments  of  dawn, 

Then  rosy  light  and  a  long  sunny  noon, — 
A  red  glow — and  the  day  has  gone. 

So  human  life  from  its  sweet  rosy  morn, 

Glides  ever  as  swiftly  away, 
Rich  in  the  bright  flow  of  the  noontide  glow, 

In  full  bloom  it  may  die  as  the  day. 

And  the  greatest  life  like  day's  glowing  sun, 

Will  as  steadily  pass  along, 
Flashing  its  gifts  like  the  sun's  swift  rays, — 

Remembered  like  a  sweet,  sad  song. 


LIGHT. 


Radiant  streams  of  shivered  beams, 

And  broad,  wide-spread  waves  of  light, 

Conquering  the  retreating  dark 
And  the  deepest  shades  of  night. 

Mighty  streams  of  the  golden  gleams, 

Quivering  rays  of  the  sun, 
Bringing  beauty  of  life,  from  dust 

Of  the  earth,  dark-grey  and  dun. 

Drawing  life  from  roots  through  the  stem. 
To  glow  in  blush  on  the  rose, 

Laying  leaves  o'er  arms  of  the  oak, 
And  tinting  each  flower  that  grows. 

Each  pulse-beat  of  human  life  throbs, 
By  foice  of  these  beaming  rays  ; 

And  life  of  all  life  on  the  earth, 
It  fills,  and  numbers  its  days. 


85 
Without  light,  no  grass-blades  nor  leaves  ; 

No  flowers  will  gracefully  nod, 
No  life  on  the  earth,  in  the  air, 

In  waters,  or  under  the  sod. 

Glorious,  Immortal,  Great  Love, 

Thou  art  the  essence  of  Light ! 
Thou  art  life  to  each  human  soul — 

O  draw  us  up  from  earth's  night. 

Or  like  things  that  are  shut  from  sun-rays 

We  shall  droop  and  wilting  lie, 
In  the  deepest  sadness  and  sorrow, 

And  darkness,  alone  to  die. 


MORN. 


Morn  resplendent  with  light, 

Serene,  soft  and  clear, 
O  from  whence  do  you  come  ? 

If  from  some  dark  sphere, 

Why  are  you  so  fair? 
You  come  in  with  the  day, 

When  it  breaks  from  night, 
On  the  quavering  wings 

Of  the  lambent  air, 
And  come  with  the  glory 

Of  soft  golden  light. 


Do  your  starry  rays  form 

In  the  night's  deep  shades, 
And  hide,  as  the  lightning 

Hides,  in  the  storm  clouds? 
Do  they  procreate  light, 

The  night's  starless  hours? 
Or  can  bright  rays  evolve 

From  their  lone  deep  dark, 
To  burst  in  such  splendor 

With  the  song  of  the  lark, 
And  then  their  fair  glory 

To  sift  on  the  flowers? 


So  to  us,  do  you  come? 

Or  does  it  but  seem, 
That  you  come  frcm  the  night's 

Dark,  wildering  dream, 

As  the  pride  of  the  woods, 

.  Or  the  plant  shoots  forth, 
That  has  lain  in  the  dark, 

Through  nights  and  through  days, 
In  the  lone,  stilly  deeps, 

Of  the  dull  brown  earth, 
To  spread  in  the  oak  tree, 

And  rich  field  displays. 

Or  in  majesty  wait  you 

The  move  of  the  world, 
To  bless  her  as  she  needs, 

With  thy  rays  unfurled? 

And  change  to  clear  splendor 

Frost  forms  in  her  cold, 
And  burnish  her  green  fields, 

And  flowers  in  the  wold? 


88 

So  grand  and  majestic, 

Fixed,  steady,  and  lone, 
Great  Love  for  us  waits 

On  His  pure  white  throne. 

When  to  Love,  which  is  Light, 
Our  dark  hearts  will  turn, 

Then  its  sweet  thrilling  rays 
Will  in  through  them  burn, 

And,  as  in  sun-lit  morn, 
Days  will  then  glide  along 

In  light,  as  in  the  music 
Of  a  rapturous  song. 


THE    STORM. 


All  the  day  were  sounds  of  wailing 
Of  the  east  and  north-east  wind  ; 

In  the  sky  gray  clouds  were  sailing, 
Glooming  over  lake  and  land. 

As  the  daylight  slowly  faded, 
There  was  silence  in  the  air, 

And  the  wailing  wind  retreated, 
To  its  dark  storm-brewing  lair. 

Now,  the  night  grows  dark  and  darker, 
Curtains  in  the  shining  stars  ; 

While  the  owlets  in  the  hemlocks, 
Hoot  in  plaintiveness  their  bars. 

Back  the  wind  comes  in  low  moaning, 
And  we  hear  the  sounds  of  rain, 

With  the  weird-gusts  loudly  falling, 
In  a  long  unbroken  chain. 


12 


90 

Hour  by  hour  the  storm  increases, 
Fitfully  the  fierce  wind  raves — 
It  remorseless  drives  and  surges, 
As  surge  ocean's  stormy  waves. 

The  fire  glows  on  the  hearthstone, 
In  the  common  evening  room, 

While  coldly  sleep  the  flower  buds, 
In  the  outer  evening  gloom. 

And  the  bleak  storm,  starry  dashes 
Drops  against  the  window  pane. 

Sprays  to  slip  down  in  streamlets, 
In  the  silvery  flowing  chain. 

When  the  scattered  household  gather, 
In  the  room  ablaze  with  light. 

Then  is  felt  the  cheering  constrast, 
To  the  dark  and  stormy  night. 

And  new  sense  of  sweet  home  comfort 
Creeps  into  each  happy  breast,. 

With  new  and  heartfelt  gratitude, 
For  their  quiet,  dear  home  nest. 


Another  night  the  bleak  wind  raged  ;  — 
All  the  day  and  night  again, 

Was  dark  with  gray  clouds  and  dreary, 
In  the  rush  or  lull  of  rain. 

The  third  morn  broke  in  the  splendor 
And  brightness  of  a  new-made  world, 

In  a  shining  golden  beauty, 

All  its  leaves  of  light  unfurled. 

Thus  may  heaven  in  its  great  glory, 
Break  on  the  vision  of  the  blest, 

When  from  life's  storms  and  shadows, 
They  pass  to  its  blissful  rest. 


.DAY. 

\\  hen  in  scented  breath  of  the  night's  grey  maze, 

And  in  dew  the  red  clover  bathes, 
When  in  silence  soft,  through  the  leaf-laden  woods, 

Drop  from  leaf-points  the  white  dew  beads, 
When  twittering  sounds  from  some  half- waked  bird 

Falls  on  the  dreaming  ear  half-heard: 

Then,  the  day  dawns. 

When  the  mists  float  away  like  midnight  dreams, 

And  red-lights  through  the  grey  air  gleams  : 
When  banners  of  gold  abroad  are  unfurled, 

And  sun-rays  thrill  the  sleeping  world  ; 
When  the  greenwoods  sing  with  the  songs  of  birds, 
And  o'er  hills  wind  the  flocks  and  herds. 
Then,  wakes  the  morn. 
When  a  clear  white  light  fills  the  calm  still  hours, 

And  rose-stems  flame  with  full-blown  flowers  : 
When  the  lily  lifts  up  her  snow-white  head, 

And  fragrance  crowns  the  violet  bed  ; 
When  the  fleet  deer  in  the  green  forest  glade; 
Seeks  the  deep  and  cool  leafy  shade.  . 
Then,  is  the  noon. 


93 
When  home  go  the  reapers  with  scythe  and  rake, 

And  bitterns  boom  from  the  sedgy  lake  ; 
When  the  clouds  purple  as  vanishing  beams, 

Leave  dark  shadows  o'er  hills  and^streams': 
And  thrushes  trill,  from  the  spray  o'er  their  nests, 

'Till  shadows  deepen,  and  Nature  rests: 
Then,  dav  is  done. 


GRANT. 

OUR  NATION'S  HERO. 
APRIL,  1885. 

Our  hero  brave, — so  cool  and  calm 
In  his  strong  mind  ;    no  weak  alarm, 
Nor  any  more  apparent  fear 
Than  in  some  charge  of  battle  near. 

Which  his  clear  thought  so  wisely  planned 
That  victory  crowned  his  brave  command, 
Sees  down  life's  path  the  coming  foe 
With  footsteps  sure,  however  slow. 

A  hero  great  in  every  plan, 
Yet  now  reveals  the  greater  man  ; 
So  brave  to  give  decided  blow, 
That  fells  the  last,  his  mortal  foe. 

Though  it  will  bring  no  world's  renown, 
He  gains  a  bright  immortal  crown  ; 
Let  victor's  notes  triumphant  ring, 
Death,  now,  has  lost  its  power  to  sting. 


95 

The  valiant  soldier  has  obeyed 
God's  high  command,  so  seeks  the  aid 
Of  teachings  ;    prayers  will  help  him  lean 
With  stronger  faith  on  God  unseen, 
So  he  may  go  with  perfect  trust 
To  his  eternal,  peaceful  rest. 


And,  now,  though  few  his  numbered  days, 
The  nation  for  the  hero  prays, 
Owns  his  great  deeds  and  feels  them  more, 
As  he  draws  near  the  stainless  shore. 
The  greatest  deeds  of  any  time, 
Like  living  coals  'neath  ashy  rime 
While  sleeping  lay,  forgotten  seem, 
Occasion  breaks  their  quiet  dream. 


As  opened  coals  flame  up  anew, 

So  bright,  great  deeds  come  up  to  view, 

And  vivid  wake  the  many  facts 

Of  our  great  hero's  noblest  acts  ; 

While  his  well-loved  and  honored  name 

Will  live,  as  lives  our  nation's  fame. 


GLADSTONE. 

REFUSING   THE   TITLE    OF   EARL. 

Not  the  title  of  earl  with  an  earldom, 
Or  that  of  king  with  a  crown, 

Could  add  to  the  stateman's  greatness, 
Or  to  his  well-earned  renown. 

He  has  lived  for  the  honor  of  England, 
And  well  has  he  done  his  part, 

For  the  best  good  of  the  people, 
With  his  strong  and  earnest  heart. 

And  to  her  honor  in  all  her  strifes, 
He  has  clung  to  humanity's  side, 

Would  do  what  he  saw  to  be  right, 
Not  seeking  to  go  with  the  tide. 

Not  to  stifle  the  man  is  God's  plan 

He  grows  by  seeming  defeat, 

This  alone  oft  shows  to  the  world, 
The  one  noble  and  truly  great. 


97 
Not  a  title  to  honor  his  brow, 

For  deeds  that  he  has  well  done, — 
When  a  field  spreads  wide  before  him 

P^or  conquest  o'er  wrong  to  be  won. 

Not  this  honor  can  star  his  greatness, — 
High  is  enthroned  his  loved  name, 

In  all  the  heart  of  Great  Britain, 

And  through  the  world  honored  fame. 

No  title  to  hinder  or  bind  him, 

Who  would  lift  man  from  the  sod, 

To  life  useful,  broad  and  higher, 
And  lived  to  the  honor  of  God. 

Firm  and  brave  as  the  oak  of  the  woodland, 
May  he  through  all  his  days  stand, 

Working  great  good  for  his  nation, 
The  man  so  great  and  so  grand. 

Blest  is  the  nation,  and  blest  is  the  time, 
That  has  such  men  for  their  own  ; 

Whom  no  art  delusive  can  lead, 

From  the  plain  right  way  to  them  known. 


98 

Men  who  hate  all  that  is  wrong  and  false, 

But  who  love  the  right  and  true, — 
Then  error  will  tremble  and  fall, 

Triumph  of  right  will  ensue. 


SONNET. 

TO    A.    M.    H. 


How  pleasantly  the  days  have  flown, 

Since  your  sweet  friendship  I  have  known; 

Kind  interchange  of  thought  and  feeling, 

Have  ever  been  to  me  revealing, 

Some  lovelier  picture  in  thy  heart, 

So  void  of  guile,  so  free  from  art: 

Thy  gentle  mien  ;   thy  winning  grace  ; 

Thy  fair,  serene,  and  open  face, 

But  index  in  a  feeble  part 

Thy  beauty — wealth  of  mind  and  heart : 

What  I  have  well-esteemed  before, 

In  thee,  I  love  yet  more,  and  more; 

Thy  nobler  inner-self  doth  hold, 

The  honor,  homage  of  my  soul. 


THE    BARTHOLD1    STATUE. 

OF    LIBERTY    ENLIGHTENING    THE    WORLD. 

The  sons  of  Liberty-loving  France  to  us  bring, 

Liberty's  symbol  in  sculptured  form  ; 
With  her  torch-light  uplifted,  on  mid  air  to  out-wing. 

When  night  is  starlit  or  dark  in  storm. 

And  the  freedom  through  her  braves,  which  she 
helped  us  win, 

From  all  peril  would  help  us  to  hold, 
Fair  as  a  temple — to  draw  the  world's  races  within, — 

To  stand  while  the  ages  unfold. 

La  belle  France  !    great  in  science  and  art,  ever  free 
May  you  live,  beneath  your  Fleur-de-lis  ; 

And  we  in  freedom,  'neath  the  spread  wings  of  our 

eagle, 
Long  live,  like  our  Sequoia's  grand  tree. 

Like  a  colossal  divinity,  stands  the  statue, 

Lifting  her  torch  for  mankind  to  see  ; 
So, -may  Liberty's  light,  ever  onward  its  way  pursue, 

'Till  all  men  are  enlightened  and  free. 


CATHEDRAL    OF    COLOGNE 


In  the  beautiful,  the  clear, 

And  the  mild  sweet-breathed  morn 
When  sunbeams  vie  with  flowers 

All  fair  things  to  adorn. 

When  the  breezes  are  fresh. 

And  light  the  cool  winds  blow, 
From  off  the  fair  water 

Of  the  blue  Rhine  below. 

Then  in  grandeur  of  state, 
The  vast  pile  of  dull  stone, 

Spreads  around  and  shoots  up 
Towards  the  sky's  blue  dome. 

As  a  grandly-wrought  poem, 
Leaps  from  a  poet's  brain  ; 

With  airy-light  sweetness, 
Sung  in  every  strain. 


IO2 

Strength,  and  beauty,  and  grace, 
By  man's  worshipful  thought, 
In  this  temple  to  God, 

Are  well  fashioned  and  wrought. 

It  inspires  us  with  love 
And  with  reverent  awe  : 

And  our  hearts  unto  God, 
It  seems  ever  to  draw. 

In  the  cool,  fair  morning, 
It  stands  grand  and  alone, 

This  high  massive  temple 
Of  the  pale  heavy  stone. 

But  when  in  the  soft  calm 
Of  the  fair  evening  time, 

The  grand  pile  is  flooded 

With  the  clear,  bright  moonshine, 

Then  its  fair  beams  silver, 

The  wreaths  clustered,  or  lone, 

Of  the  summer  buds  and  flowers, 
These  rare  "poems  in  stone/' 


103 
Which  the  poet  designer 

With  taste  esthetic, 
Formed,  and  wove  into  songs 

Of  sweet  "frozen  music." 

Then  o'er-swept  and  transfused 

With  its  soft  and  pale  light, 
It  lifts  a  grand  temple 

Of  bright  silvery  white. 

And  filigreed  silver 

Is  both  turret  and  spire  : 
And  finial  and  point 

Blaze  in  the  moon's  white  fire. 

While  over  the  shadows, 

Falls  a  shimmer  of  gold  ; 
From  the  spire  down  to  base, 

All  in  gossamer  fold. 

In  grace  of  loveliness 

It  will  ever  remain  ; 
With  the  fine  thoughts  wrought  in  stone, 

From  a  poet's  brain. 


IO4 

Which  illustrate  the  seasons, 

Spring  buds  and  June  flowers, 
Autumn's  firs  and  bare  branches, 

In  frost  of  winter  hours. 

From  support  of  the  wall, 
And  around  the  vast  base, 

To  the  turrets  above 
Is  grandeur  of  space. 

The  carvings  and  the  spires, 
Large  and  slender  and  tall ; 

The  finials  and  crockets, 
Grace  of  beauty  o'er  all. 

And  beauty  transcendent, 

Glorified,  unreal ; 
Matter  spiritualized, 

Pure  and  ethereal. 


NOTE. — "In  the  Gothic  Cathedral  at  Cologne  the  architect  and  poet, 
for  the  designer  was  both,  attempted  to  illustrate  the  seasons  with  their 
variety  of  vegetation,  by  stony  buds  and  flowers." 


BALDER. 

THE  SCANDINAVIAN'S  GOD  OF  THE  WOODS — A  MYTH 
REPRESENTS  KNOWLEDGE  AND  WISDOM. 

In  the  land  of  Thor  and  Odin, 

Where  the  winter  nights  are  long, 

Where  the  fair  moon  and  twinkling  stars, 
Glow  in  white  light,  clear  and  strong. 

Where  Aurora  paints  her  colors, 

With  the  richest  of  rich  dyes, 
On  the  cold  snow  upon  the  ground 

And  in  deep  vault  of  the  skies. 

Where  she  shoots  her  dyes  in  turrets, 
Or  binds  them  in  loop  and  bow, 

Or  drops  rainbow  colored  curtains 
From  the  zenith  to  the  snow. 

O'er  firs  and  pines  iced  and  frosted, 
Throws  her  colors  rich  and  rare  ; 

Or  like  forests  of  pure  crystals 
They  stand  sparkling  in  the  air. 


io6 

Where  the  stillness  reigns  unbroken, — 

And  no  stirring  airy  sound; 
Save,  by  sledge  of  a  lone  traveler, 
As  his  reindeer  flies  the  ground. 

Or  when  the  sun  in  climbing  highest, 
Makes  the  shortest  summer  time, 

With  soft  airs  and  rippling  waters, 
And  the  green-woods  in  their  prime. 

Tis  then  Balder's  reign  is  pleasing, 
Then  the  people  like  him  best; 

He  seems  loving,  nearer  to  them, 
So,  they  heed  his  rule  with  zest. 

A  single  eye  has  their  wood-king, — 
We  walk  the  straight  path  to  be   good, 

They  revere  him  in  cold  splendor, 
Love  him  in  summer's  milder  mood. 

Are  hights  of  knowledge  like  winter, 
So  lone,  so  still,  and  so  cold, 

Though  bright  as  tints  of  Aurora 
And  sparkling  as  winter's  wold? 


Is  wisdom  like  deep  flowing  streams, 
And  glow  of  summer's  warm  moods, 

With  perfume  of  the  sweet  flowers 

And  breath  of  summer's  green-woods? 

Or  does  winter  with  frosty  splendor, 
And  the  warm  summer  combined, 

Sweet  in  her  flowery  glory — 
Emblem  the  Infinite  mind? 


OF    THE    SEASONS. 


Faintly  in  color  does  spring  unfold  ; 
Autumn  flushes  with  crimson  and  gold  ; 
Summer  folds  the  fields  and  woods  in  green, 
And  winter  spreads  snow  in  silvery  sheen. 

Spring  flashes  the  showers  through  gilded  rays, 
As  leaves  are  scattered  in  autumn  days, 
Summer  sprinkles  with  flowers  the  grassy  bed, 
Winter's  sun  glories  on  white  snow  shed. 

Spring  gushes  with  song  of  birds  and  brooks, 
And  autumn  glows  with  beauteous  looks, 
Summer  thrills  with  the  joys  the  warm  sun  brings, 
And  winter's  wind-whistle  through  the  pine  wood  rings 

Spring  fresh  in  newness  of  life  is  sweet, 
Autumn  is  with  abundance  replete  ; 
Summer's  rich  greenness  and  flowery  bloom, 
The  winter  will  chill  with  frostv  doom. 


Thus  circling  seasons  ever  unfold, 
Coming  with  new,  going  out  with  old, 
Beginning  and  ending  throughout  all  time, 
Singing  along  as  a  sacred  chime. 


BRIGHT    AND    FAIR. 


The  bright  color-glow,  that  streams  o'er  the  hills, 

In  the  dewy  and  rose-tinted  dawn, 
Painting  the  sky  and  clouds,  lakes,  rivers  and  rills, 
Melts  into  the  sun-gilding  morn. 

Morn  sweet  with  the  buds  of  opening  flowers, 

And  breezes  that  through  the  woods  play, 
Song  of  bird  and  stream,  of  new  life  in  the  hours, 
All  mingle  their  sweets  in  the  day. 

So,  fair,  pure  and  sweet,  as  a  rare  gem  comes, — 
And  brighter  than  the  rosiest  dawn, — 

Child-life  to  the  world  of  our  human  homes, — 
A  breath  from  the  portals  of  heaven. 

And  there  gleam  the  soft  rays  of  its  glory, 
In  the  bright  dimpled  face  of  the  child, 

As  in  dream  of  some  phase  of  its  story, 
When  the  eyes  beam  benignant  and  mild. 


1 1 1 
Rays  that  fuse  into  the  free  joyous  hours, 

Which  hallow  the  best  days  of  youth, 
Exuberance,  softens,  as  dew  on  the  flowers — 

A  halo  to  grace  their  gay  mirth. 

From  life's  dawn,  through  its  morn  and  its  noontime, 
Filled  with  hopes,  that  drive  away  tears  ; 

The  bright  sweetness  of  joy  like  the  sunshine — 
All  mingle  and  melt  in  the  years. 

As  the  sun  gives  the  varied  rich  beauty, 
And  bright  charm  to  the  hours  and  days, 

So,  love  to  our  life  gives  grace  to  each  change  ; 
In  it,  is  all  delight  of  life's  joys. 


EDELWEISS. 


Far  up  the  Alpine  mountains,  bold  and  high, 
That  gleam  frosty  white  against  the  blue  sky, 
May  be  found  'mid  treacherous  snow  and  ice, 
This  delicate  flower,  the  fair  edelweiss. 

Or  on  the  beetling  crag,  'neath  hanging  rock, 
Where  the  traveller's  trusty  Alpenstock, 
Safely  guides  him  over  the  ice  and  snow, 
While  he  blinds  his  eyes  to  the  depths  below. 

O'er  the  yawning  chasm  and  the   ice-crowned   ledge, 
Or  hanging  over  the  precipice's  edge, 
Where  snow  'neath  the  sun  is  a  flood  of  light, 
Blooms  this  tender  flower  in  its  spotless  white. 


As  pure  as  the  mountain's  pure  snow  and  ice, 
And  fair  as  the  light  glows  the  edelweiss, 
As  delicate  as  the  anemone's  flower, 
It  lives  its  brief  life  in  an  icy  bower. 


H3 

In  its  fragile  beauty  of  breathing  life, 
Far  towards  the  sky  from  this  world  of  strife, 
It  seems,  enrobed  in  immaculate  white, 
Like  a  spirit  strayed  from  the  realms  of  light. 

And  purity's  type,  is  the  edelweiss, 

Blooming  fair  and  pure  surrounded  by  ice ; 

So,  howe'er  cold  the  world,  the  heaven-bound  soul, 

Mounts  ever  towards  its  stainless  goal. 


O    SWALLOWS. 


The  long-fringed  leaves  of  maple  red 
Hang  light  upon  the  trees, — 
O  fleet  winged  swallows, — 
O'er  the  mossy  violet  bed 
And  swinging  in  the  breeze, 
In  wood  and  hollows. 

The  willow's  flossy  tassels  gray 
Hang  o'er  the  meadow  brook, 

O  swallows,  swallows, 
The  wind-flower  and  the  cowslip  gay 
Star  many  a  hidden  nook, 
In  shady  hollows. 

The  white  syringa  by  the  well, 
And  lilac's  purple  flowers,— 

Blithe,  cheery  swallows, 
On  the  wet  grass  where  night  dew  fell,- 
Drop  down  in  fragrant  showers, 
In  grassy  hollows. 


The  robins  came  in  early  spring, 
To  cheer  with  welcome  sound, 

O  swallows,  swallows. 
In  tree-tops  bare  around  to  sing 

When  cold  were  winds,  and  ground, 
Upland  and  hollows, 


Come,  mend  your  nests  beneath  the  eaves 
The  clay  is  soft  with  showers, 

O  merry  swallows, 
The  edges  are  dented  in  caves  ; 
And  fields  are  gay  with  flowers, 
The  hills  and  hollows. 


Or,  a  new  nest  build  this  year, 
Safe  under  the  house-roof  wing, 

Blithe,  breezy  swallows, 
There  to  twitter  your  merry  cheer, 
Let  robins  on  the  trees  sing, 
Sweet  songs  o'er  hollows. 


u6 

Come,  swallows,  come,  come  now,  when  May 
Is  in  her  wealth  of  bloom, 

O  trusting  swallows, 
And  by  our  homesteads  with  us  stay, 
'Till  frost  and  cold  have  come, 
Come,  come  blithe  swallows. 


THE    ZEPHYRS. 


Softly  leaving  dreamy  greenwoods, 
Floating  out  in  rosy  dawn, 

Waving  round  the  higher  hill-tops, 
Ushering  in  the  golden  morn. 

Waving  gently  down  the  highlands, 
Playing  with  the  morning  rays, 

Waving  o'er  the  grassy  uplands 
And  o'er  the  rosy  clover  plays. 

Floating  o'er  the  dewy  meadows, 
White  mist  wreathing  up  in  play, 

Till  the  fairy  sunbeams  hiding, 
Bear  it  all  unseen  away. 

O'er  the  gardens  bright  with  roses, 
O'er  the  lowly  violet's  bed  ; 

Scent  the  fragrance,  gather  perfume, 
Waft  it  freely  overhead. 


n8 

As  o'er  seas  they  play  with  waters  ; 

Play  o'er  fields  of  tender  grain, 
Till  the  leaves  of  young  corn  growing, 
Wave,  as  waves  the  mighty  main. 

Deep  in  the  forest,  gentle  breezes, 
In  their  frolic,  hold  light  sway ; 

But  in  winds  more  mighty  forces 
Hiding,  with  them  lightly  play. 

Till  the  rosy  evening  sunbeams 

Melt  into  the  twilight  gray, 
Then,  with  winds  and  rustling  breezes, 

In  deep  shadows  hide  away. 

Gentle  zephyrs,  sweet  breath  fanning 
Flower-buds  to  fairest  bloom — 

So  the  soft  and  sweet-breathed  love-tones 
Waken  hearts  from  doubt  and  gloom. 


SWEET-BRIER    ROSE. 


With  April  come  the  silver  showers, 
Which  hurry  up  the  early  flowers, 
Fling  drops  on  grasses,  like  the  dew 
With  golden  sunshine  sifted  through. 

The  crocus  and  the  daffodil, 

Their  sunny  place  in  gardens  fill ; 

And  through  the  pastures,  green  and  wide, 

The  rippling  waters  singing  glide. 

In  dewy  May's  soft,  sunny  noons, 
Are  orchards  white  with  apple  blooms  ; 
And  sweet  syringa  by  the  wall, 
With  purple  lilacs,  lithe  and  tall. 

And  in  the  early  summer  time 

When  sweetest  flowers  are  in  their  prime;— 

When  fostered  roses,  rich  and  rare, 

Pour  fragrance  out,  on  summer  air. 


120 

"Lily  of  the  valley"  in  the  dells, 

Hangs  out  its  snow-white  perfumed  bells  ;•— 

On  hedges  by  the  highway  glows 

The  hawthorne  and  the  fair  wild  rose. 

Among  the  brambles  by  the  way, 

Or  up,  on  the  hillsides,  far  away, 

Is  this  sweet  small-leafed  thorn-bush  found, 

Brightest  of  all  the  green  around  : 

The  glossy  perfumed  leaves  amid, 
A  bright  small  rose  looks  up,  half  hid ; 
Petels,  with  blush  of  rosy  dawn, 
Leaves,  sweet  as  air  of  summer's  morn. 

As  on  their  way  to  school,  they  run, 
Here,  children  in  the  morning  come  ; 
And  gather  sprigs  with  dainty  flowers 
To  please  them,  in  the  school  time  hours. 

O  lovely  little  bright-eyed  rose, 
That,  on  sweet  brier,  buds  and  grows  : 
To  me  a  breath  you  seem  to  bring. 
Of  all  the  sweetest  flowers  of  spring. 


HARVEST    TIME. 


O  days  of  pearly  and  purpling  haze, 

When  saphire  and  topaz  gleam  in  the  maze ; 

And  in  the  dreamy,  soft,  ambient  air, 

Spreads  burnished  nature  transcendently  fair. 

The  woods  are  gilded  with  orange  and  gold, 
And  crimsoning  patches  lie  in  their  fold, 

'Mid  larches  and  spruce  and  evergreen  pines, 
O'er  brambles  and  tangles  of  running  vines. 

The  sky  partridge  whirs  o'er  the  crisp  brown   leaves. 

And  ripened  nuts  fall  from  the  branching  trees. — 
On  the  streamlet  flashes  glints  from  the  sun, 

And  squirrels  over  the  beechen  trees  run. 

In  the  harvest  field  stand  the  golden  sheaves, 

And  the  spider  his  web  on  dried  grass  weaves  ;  — 

When  down  the  west  hangs  the  new  moon's  horn, 
The  rabbits  gather  the  scattered  corn. 


16 


122 

The  willows  bend  low  in  the  dreamy  air 
By  the  silvery  lake  in  beauty  fair ; 

And  the  maples  burn  in  this  pearly  light 
As  saphire  flashes  through  the  opal's  white. 


FROST. 


O  cold  winter  morn  !   a  splendor  of  frost 
Clings  to  thee,  as  though  by  the  tempest  tost, 
From  billowy  waves  of  the  frost-fraught  air, 
That  grim  Boreas  breathes  from  his  icy  lair, 
Silvering  the  shrubs,  till  a  silvery  show, 
Are  forests  and  groves  in  the  pale  sun's  glow. 

Out  from  the  still  cold  north  he  lightly  breathes 
On  the  window  pane  a  forest  of  leaves, 
And  traces  among  them  silvery  flowers, 
That  star-like  grow  in  the  night's  star-lit  hours. 

And  silvery  sprays  'till  in  pure  white  rays, 
Of  silvery  splendor  the  frost  world  bathes, 
Silvering  light  in  the  bright  star  gleams, 
And  silvering  white  in  the  moon's  pale  beams. 

And  cold  as  the  lakelet's  cold  sheets  of  ice, 
Yet  it  melts  away  in  a  flitting  trice, 
When  the  sun  shines  warm  with  a  beaming  grace 
That  slowly  melts  ice  on  the  lakelet's  face. 


I24 

So,  the  robes  of  ice  in  which  the  cold  world 
Has  bound  human  hearts,  or  its  frost  impearled, 
Love  will  by  its  warm  glory-beams  of  gold 
Melt  from  them  the  frost  and  the  chill  ice-fold. 


THE    SLEIGH    RIDE. 


Tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle, 

Sweet  silvery  sleigh-bells, 
Jingle,  jingle,  jingle, 

Your  silvery  sweet  swells. 


The  rain  came  down 

On  the  new-fallen  snow, 

That  covered  the  wild  forest  trees ; 
Silvery  and  long, 
Icicles  were  formed, 

By  the  quiet  and  frosty  breeze. 


So,  in  the  clear  air, 

When  bright  morning  broke 
Over  the  fields,  woods  and  the  hills ; 

Sunbeams  sparkled, 

In  crystals  and  beads, 
Covering  land,  lakes,  and  the  rills. 


126 

From  points  hang  pendents, 

All  lines  are  fringed  :  — 

The  trees  are  glowing  in  beauty. 
Not  with  spring  buds, 
Nor  with  June's  green  leaves, 

But  with  glassy  white  icicles. 

Along  the  road 

That  winds  through  the  wood, 
Young  birches  meet  over  the  way ; 

Forming  an  arch 

Of  brilliant  white  gems, 
Which  in  gentle  breeze  flash  and  sway. 

Silvery  white 

And  sparkling  in  light, 
Are  forests,  with  diamonds  and  crystals 

In  starry  form, 

To  please  and  adorn, 
Pine-tree  bowers,  for  fairy  festals. 

Nature  dazzling  bright, 
Flashing  in  white, 
And  its  beauty  spreads  wide  around  ; 


127 

Wherever  we  look, 
Above,  on  all  sides, 
And  its  brightness  carpets  the  ground. 

Speak  as  we  may, 

Of  comforts  and  sweets, 
Which  are  found  in  a  milder  zone, 

Where  frost  lightly  comes, 

And  snow  rarely  falls, 
And  cold  winter  is  never  known. 


Of  the  fruits  and  flowers, 

Soft  airs  and  showers, 
Where  life  to  us  is  a  sweet  bliss ; 

Yet,  there's  no  sweeter, 

No  purer  pleasure 
Than  a  sleigh-ride  in  morning  like  this. 

So,  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle, 
Sweet  silvery  sleigh  bells, 

Jingle,  jingle,  jingle, 

Your  silvery  sweet  swells. 


A    SUNSET    ON    LAKE    WIN 
NIP1SSEOGEE. 

Like  a  gem  among  the  mountains, 
Of  this  fair  New  England  state, 

Where  the  tall  peaks  climb  the  highest, 
Lies  this  sea-like  glassy  lake. 

With  small  green  islands  dotted, 

And  numbering  one  by  one, 
Each  for  a  day  of  the  year, 

And  will  be  as  new  years  come. 

And  the  greenest  of  green  mountains 
Climb  around  the  border  line ; 

Their  steep,  broad  sides,  thickly  covered 
With  the  hemlock,  spruce  and  pine. 

"It  is  Lake  Winnipissecgee," 
Calls  the  Indian  in  his  tongue  ; 

But  the  "Smile  of  the  Great  Spirit," 
Is  translated  in  my  song. 


I29 
It  is  a  summer's  evening; 

The  morning  was  warm  and  fine  ; — - 
But  in  the  noonday  summer  showers 

Rushed  down  all  the  mountain  line. 

And  on  the  long  mountain  ranges, 
That  fringe  down  the  water's  edge, 

Lay  the  storm-clouds,  in  their  darkness, 
Walling  us  in  like  a  hedge. 

But  as  our  boat  sails  outward, 

Heading  toward  the  western  shore  ; 

Light  is  sifting  through  the  cloud-rifts. 
And  the  rain-drops  fall  no  more. 

Now  the  dark  storm-clouds  drift  apart, 

And  the  dazzling  sun  comes  out, 
Like  a  sparkling  golden-red  ball, 

Scattering  splendors  all  about. 

And  the  clouds  in  brilliant  red-glow 

Mass  in  mazy  dome  and  tower ; 
And  the  lake  is  a  glowing  flame, 

Like  a  sea  of  liquid  fire. 


130 

And  up  the  broad  sides  of  Belknap, 

Clouds  on  clouds  of  vapor  rise 
As  though  here  some  small  volcanoes 

Were  preparing  a  surprise. 

And  soon,  from  each  tiny  sharp  peak, 

Rolls  up  their  steamy  vapor ; 
As  smoke  and  ashes  might  steam  up, 

From  out  a  burning  crater. 

And  from  each  point  on  mountain  side, 
Steeped  in  crimson  sunset  light, 

Flooding,  in  its  flaming  glory, 

Wide-spread  lake  an'd  mountain  height. 

But  away,  where  the  Ossipees 
Touch  the  margin  of  the  lake, 

There  lies  a  deep  purple  blackness, 
Darker  than  the  shadows  make. 

That  threatens  with  its  gathered  gloom, 
A  fierce  storm  of  wind  and  rain ; 

Where  might  play  the  swift  forked  lightning 
O'er  mountain  height  and  water-plain. 


And  stealing  o'er  the  roseate  sky, 
Shut  without  its  glory  light ; 

To  shroud  us  in  a  blackening  gloom, 
More  baleful  than  the  gloom  of  night. 

O  the  splendor  of  this  sunset  scene ! 

The  strange  contrast,  uneffaced, 
Will  remain  on  memory's  tablet; 

It  can  never  be  erased. 


THE    BROOK. 


Glints  and  sparkles  in  the  sunbeams, 
Curls  and  dimples  in  the  breeze, 

And  warbles  o'er  its  rocky  bed 
Beneath  the  shady  trees. 

Runs  and  wimples  through  the  pastures, 
Where  tender  lambs  come  and  drink, 

Beneath  the  graceful  drooping  willows 
Cool,  where  the  shadows  blink. 

Silvery  spreading  through  the  alders, 

Sinks  in  many  a  little  pool, 
Where  the  darting  glossy  minnows 

Play  till  sun-warmed  waters  cool. 

Swiftly  glides  through  fields  and  orchards 
When  it  meets  a  rippling  burn  ; 

Then  in  mad  and  merry  frolic 
Runs  amid  brakes  and  fern. 


133 
Under  oaks  and  curly  maples, 

Flows  still  and  deep  through  the  lea, 
Flows  in  sweet  and  softer  music, 
Ever  downward  to  the  sea. 


And  we  love  the  bright  brook's  sweet  music 

As  it  ripples  in  peace  away ; 
And  this  tender  and  loving  lesson, 

It  teaches  us  day  by  day. 


A  spirit  of  gladness  to  cherish, 

Through  sunshine  of  life,  and  its  shade  ; 
And  meet  all  in  sweet  calm  and  delight, 

God  has  in  love  for  us  made. 


Then  our  life  will  flow  on  like  the  brook, 
A  beauty  of  light  the  way  long ; 

That  will  please  and  cheer  with  a  brightness, 
As  sweet  as  a  rhythmic  song. 


THE    MAY    FLOWER 

NEW  ENGLAND'S  SNOW-FLOWER. 


Under  the  glistening  pure  white  snow, 
Fairest  of  all  spring  flowers  it  grows, 

On  the  arbutus'  trailing  green  vines, 
O'er  brown  needles  beneath  the  pines. 

Fair  as  the  lily's  snow-white  bells, 
Tinted  as  ocean's  pink-tinted  shells ; 

The  faintest  blush  on  its  petals  white, 
Painted  with  rays  of  morning  light. 

Budding  and  blooming  in  moss-like  bed, 
In  soft  faint  light  through  snow  roof  shed, 

Amid  green  leaves  in  a  snowy  bloom, 
Scenting  the  low,  fairy-like  room. 

Spring's  loud  wind-whistle  among  the  trees, 
Sways  it  no  more  than  the  lightest  breeze ; 

And  howe'er  the  wild  storm's  rage  and  beat, 
It  sheltered  waits  in  its  warm  retreat. 


135 
A  peep  at  the  sky,  looking  up  to  light, 

When  the  spring-day  is  fair  and  bright; 
And  the  warm  south  wind  with  April  showers, 

Melt  the  snow-roof  from  o'er  the  flowers. 

O  lovely  snow-flower  with  fragrance  sweet ! 

We  welcome  you  ;   and  gladly  greet, 
As  to  us  you  come  a  new  surprise, 

With  each  young  spring-time's  soft  blue  skies. 


MEADOWS    SWEET. 


Meadows  sweet  with  the  wild  flowers  bright, 
Meadows  sweet  with  daisies  white, 
So  sweetly  fresh,  and  Oh,  so  fair  ! 
In  the  pure  and  soft  morning  air. 

Meadows  sweet  with  the  pearly  dew, 
Starred  with  the  grass-flowers'  eyes  of  blue  ; 
Sweet  with  the  glossy,  growing  corn, 
In  dewy  freshness  of  the  morn. 

Meadows  sweet  with  the  new-mown  hay, 
That  in  green  waves  on  hillsides  lay ; 
Cut  with  the  dew  on  red-top  plumes, 
It  sweeps  the  air  with  rich  perfumes. 

Meadows  sweet  where  the  breezes  roam, 
Among  the  flowers  where  wild  bees  hum  ; 
Fragrance  bearing  through  farm-house  rooms, 
From  roses  wild  and  clover  blooms. 


137 

Meadows  sweet  with  the  song  of  birds, 
With  distant  lowing  of  the  herds;  — 
Sweet  with  the  fragrant  apple  blooms, 
When  May  sends  forth  her  rare  perfumes. 

Meadows  sweet,  and  Oh,  so  fair  ! 
Meadows  fresh  in  the  morning  air ; 
So  sweet,  so  fresh  and  fair  is  youth, 
With  grace  of  purity  and  truth. 


UP    RED    HILL. 


The  air  was  clear,  cool  and  bracing, 

With  spicing  of  early  frost ; 
And  the  late  fair  summer  greenness, 

Was  in  glowing  color  lost. 

When  up  a  steep  path  and  narrow, 
Through  a  leafy  wonder,  wide 

Spreading  in  a  crimson  brightness ; 
We  climbed  the  quaint  mountain  side. 

Up  through  the  scrub  oak  and  maple, 
Glowing  in  a  brilliant  flame  ; 

And  from  this  bright  autumnal  color, 
The  red  mountain  takes  its  name. 

And  winding  up  the  long  pathway, 
Through  openings  in  the  trees, 

Gleamed  marvels  of  dazzling  beauty, 
As  if  borne  upon  the  breeze. 


139 
In  the  morning  we  were  merry, 

Which  was  with  rare  beauty  rife  ; 
And  through  our  hearts  then  went  bounding, 

A  glad  feeling  of  new  life. 

When  we  stood  upon  the  summit, 
And  the  wide-spread  grandeur  saw, 

Our  merry  spirits  soon  were  lost, 
In  deep  and  reverent  awe. 

W7e  stepped  on  altar-stones  the  highest, 
As  when  heart  with  scene  accords, 

We  then  give  our  thoughts  expression 
In  a  song  of  holy  words. 

And  our  voices  lifting  upward, 

We  made  all  the  near  points  ring ; 

With  loud  praises  to  our  Father, 
The  Author  of  everything. 

The  distant  sweep  of  the  horizon, 

As  far  as  the  eye  could  see, 
Was  walled  with  a  chain  of  mountains, — 

To  our  vision  seemed  to  be. 


140 

East,  glowed  the  long  and  wide-spread  lake, 

"The  Smile  of  the  Great  Spirit," 
While  along  the  west  gleamed  one,  that 
Its  charms  and  grace  inherit. 

New  England's  fair  village  homes, 

Nestle  near  meadows,  woods  and  hills, 

With  the  sunny-bright  laughing  brooks, 
And  the  little  rippling  rills. 

Steaming  peaks,  like  live  volcanoes, 

When  from  clouds  fall  summer  showers ; 

Silvery  cascades,  roaring  waters, 

Where  grew  in  beauty  summer  flowers. 

Sunny  brightness,  deepening  shadows, 
O'er  the  woods  of  spruce  and  pine, 

That  spread  o'er  the  steep  and  broad  sides, 
And  down  the  near  mountains'  line. 

Sylvan  shades  and  dreamy  greenwoods, 
Long  and  wide-spread  silvering  lakes, 

Bold  white  face  Mt., — eagle's  eyry, — 
Purling  streams  and  meadow  brooks, 


HI 

Are  o'er-sprinkled  and  repeated, 

In  beauty,  through  all  the  space  ; 
As,  varied  the  views  and  lovely, 

That  the  far  blue  heights  embrace. 

And  will  live  comingling,  blending, 

Down  the  years  advancing  line, 
All  these,  nature's  fairest  beauties, 

With  the  loveliest  things  of  time. 


ROBIN    RED-BREAST. 


You  have  come,  my  robin  red-breast, 

This  bright  February  morn  ; 
You  are  calling  from  the  tree-top, 

Ere  the  day  is  fairly  born. 

On  the  ground  the  snow  is  lying : 
While  the  tree-tops,  bare  and  brown, 

Their  light  shadows,  now,  are  throwing 
O'er  the  garden  and  the  lawn. 

But  you  never  heed  the  snow-drifts, 
For  you  know  they  will  not  stay ; 

'Neath  the  touch  of  spring's  warm  sunshine, 
They  will  melt  and  float  away. 

O  my  robin,  cheery  robin  ! 

We  do  gladly  welcome  you  ; 
Though  we  know  the  storms  will  gather, 

While  you  wait  the  summer-dew. 


H3 
But  your  home  is  in  the  pine-tree, 

Snugly  nestled  from  all  harm ; 
While  the  snow  lies  on  the  branches, 

Keeping  you  so  snug  and  warm. 

And  you'll  sing  throughout  the  morning, 
While  the  sun  shines  bright  and  clear, 

All  adown  through  groves  of  maples 
We  shall  hear  your  merry  cheer. 


But  I  do  not  hear  your  clear  notes, 
In  this  town  upon  the  hills ; 

Howe'er  I  list,  your  song  only, 
Now,  through  my  memory  thrills. 

O  my  robin,  breezy  robin  ! 

You  I  miss  with  sweetest  things. 
That  around  my  young  life  clustered, 

In  the  brightest  of  all  springs. 


THE    ORIOLE. 


Sitting  by  my  chamber  window, 
This  evening  in  the  early  May ; 

I  close  the  book  that  I  am  reading, 
And  rest  me  in  the  waning  day. 

And  I  watch  the  snow-flakes  falling, 

o  ' 

Softly  down  in  feathery  showers, 
O'er  the  greensward  of  my  garden, 
Mingling  with  the  opening  flowers. 

* 
Nestling  down  among  the  grass  blades, 

As  the  hurrying  fairies  might, 
Homeward  hasten,  by  the  moonbeams, 

To  find  their  bowers  before  the  light. 

And  falling  on  my  cherry  tree, 

Now  covered  o'er  with  pure  white  flowers, 
Falling,  in  among  the  branches, 

Falling,  in  the  day's  fading  hours. 


H5 
Looking  at  the  tree's  fair  beauty, — 

On  a  branch  by  the  window  near, 
I  behold  a  golden  song-bird, 

That  now  of  me  can  have  no  fear. 

For  it  came,  while  I  was  reading — 

And  with  head  tucked  beneath  its  wing, 

It  will,  till  the  dawn  of  morning 

Here,  on  the  lithe  bough  sleep  and  swing. 

And,  so  near  my  hand  can  reach  it, 

It  clings  a  little  golden  ball ; 
Golden  in  the  waning  twilight, 

And  golden  through  the  snow-flakes'  fall. 

So,  softly  fall  in  fleecy  lightness — 

No  chill  can  come — it  seems  to  know, 

That  on  the  tree  by  snow-flakes  melting, 
There  will  more  cherries  form  and  grow. 

Little,  trusting,  gold-winged  birdling, 
Here  on  the  lithe  branch  firmly  cling, 

Dainty  formed,  and  sweet  voiced  singer, 
Until  the  daylight  sleep  and  swing. 


19 


146 

For  your  trusting  do  I  love  you, 

All  your  sweet  notes  love  to  hear ; 
Silvery  whistle — silvery  warble — 

All  your  song-notes  so  silvery  clear. 

Love  you,  for  your  faith  and  wisdom, 
And  love  you,  when  on  wing  you  soar;- 

So,  when  our  faith  looks  up  to  Him, 
Does  not  our  Father  love  us  more? 


THE    SUMMER    DAWN. 


Oh  to  wake,  when  the  shades  of  night  fade, 
And  the  stars  of  the  morning  pale, 

To  see  the  early  dawn's  roseate  light, 
The  morning  sky's  loveliest  veil. 

See  the  flush  of  the  rosy  hue  spread, 
As  pales  the  gleam  of  the  last  ray, 

Of  that  glowing  and  beautiful  star, 
That  heralds  the  incoming  day. 

See  the  rosy  tints  brightest  that  spread 
On  the  face  of  the  clear  glassy  lake, 

As  lay  love's  dimpled  and  rosy-sweet  smile 
In  blushes  on  beauty's  fair  cheek. 

See,  down  slopes  of  the  long  western  hills, 
Rainbows  arch  in  dew  on  ripe  grain, 

And  in  drops  on  the  green  growing  grass, 
That  cover  the  fields  and  the  plain. 


148 

See,  the  faintest  of  rosy  tints  rest, 

Ere  in  golden-rays  they  are  lost, 
On  the  dewy  and  low  misty  meads, 

That  in  pale  light,  are  white  as  the  frost. 

See,  around  these,  the  dreamy  greenwoods, 
And  where  on  a  tree's  outer  limb, 

Swings  a  robin  red-breast,  and  singing 
Tunefully,  his  sweet  morning  hymn. 

Then,  the  sweet  fair  day  will  be  brighter, 

With  these  pictures  enstamped  on  the   brain 

And  the  heart  will  be  loving  and  stronger, 
For  these,  and  the  robin's  sweet  strain. 


SONG    OF    THE    RILL. 


I  am  a  little  rippling  rill ! 

From  'neath  the  roots  of  sweet-pine, 
I  came  out  with  a  bubbling  spring, 

To  sparkle  in  the  sunshine. 

I  ripple  down  between  the  rocks, 
And  under  beachen  shadows, 

I  laugh  and  sing  with  fair  young  spring, 
And  play^  wijh  lithe  young  willows. 

They  pelt  me  with  their  flossy  blooms, 

And  flutter  with  my  kisses, 
I  float  them  to  a  sunny  nook, 

And  leave  them  with  the  grasses. 

I  glide  around  where  laurel  shrubs 
Bend  low  their  blooming  branches, 

That  hide  me  from  the  golden  sun, 
'Neath  flowers  in  snowy  masses. 


ISO 

The  sparrows  come  and  dip  their  wings, 

In  still  and  sunwarmed  edges, 
Where  I  bend  round  and  slowly  move, 

Among  the  ferns  and  sedges. 

I  list  to  hear  the  linnet  sing, 

His  song  of  spring-time  raptures, 

And  ripple  out  my  little  song, 

Through  green  and  sunny  pastures. 

I  run  to  meet  the  laughing  brook, 
And  add  one  shining  billow, 

To  swell  the  chorus  of  its  song, 

Down  through  the  flowery  meadow. 

In  all  its  bright  and  shining  way, 

I'll  mingle  with  it  ever ; 
And  with  its  sweetest  song  I'll  sing 

My  little  song  forever. 


A    SUMMER    NIGHT. 


The  moonbeams  fall  on  my  garden  walks, 
And  cast  long  shadows  of  my  lily  stalks ; 
And  silver  my  box  with  a  dewy  shower, 
More  silvery  white  than  my  lily  flower. 

The  great  stars  move  on,  with  solemn  tread 
In  the  deepening  arch  above  my  head  ; 
Their  steps  as  they  move  in  musical  chime, 
Beat  with  the  life-pulse  of  passing  time. 

The  cuckoo,  in  tree  that  hangs  o'er  the  wall, 
Sings  his  little  notes,  so  sweet  to  all ; 
While  down  in  the  woodland,  so  drear  and  lone, 
I  hear  the  whip-poor-wills  wailing  tone. 

And  through  the  bird-notes,  there  interweaves, 
The  whispering  low  of  the  aspen  leaves, 
In  graceful  trees  near  my  garden  bed ;  — 
While  my  fair  lilies  sweet  fragrance  shed. 


52 

And  I  hear  sweet  voices,  cadenced  low, 
Of  youth  and  maiden,  beneath  the  row 
Of  elms  and  maples,  adown  the  street;  — 
Their  rippling  laughter  and  tripping  feet. 

O'er  the  river,  beyond,  there  hangs  a  veil, 
But  its  waves  are  flecked  with  gleaming  sail ; 
And  music  of  flutes  o'er  its  waters  stray 
Like  tones  escaped  from  a  seraph's  lay. 

Soul-rapt  with  thy  beauty,  so  fair  and  sweet, 
Each  low-breathing  tone  with  music  replete  ; 
Entranced  with  thy  tenderness,  summer  night, 
I'd  linger  for  aye,  in  this  dream  of  delight. 


THE    MOUNTAIN    MAID. 


Fair  as  the  anemone,  that  grows  with  the  moss, 
On  knolls  by  the  maples  and  pines, 

Or  the  sweet  May  flower  that  blushes  and  spreads 
Through  the  copse  on  long  trailing  vines. 

Pure  as  the  white  dove  that  coos  on  the  roof, 
Or  the  lambs  that  frisk  on  the  hills ; 

Her  eyes  beam  with  light,  as  clear  and  as  bright, 
As  sun-rays  that  silver  the  rills. 

Free,  as  the  birds,  on  the  wild  mountain  heights, 
Or  the  deer,  when  it  starts  in  a  race, 

Her  step  is  as  light,  as  firm,  and  as  sure, 
With  motions  of  sweet  girlish  grace. 

Airy  as  the  humming-bird's  flutter  of  wings, 
When  the  sweet  he  sips  from  the  flower, 

And  light  as  the  lilt  of  the  robin,  when  crumbs 
Are  thrown  to  it  from  the  house  door. 


154 

A  heart  overflowing  with  sweet,  tender  love, 

For  all  the  pure  things  on  these  heights, 
And  something,  it  may  be,  of  mild  pity, 

For  those  who  know  not  such  delights. 


CHILD    AND    BLOSSOMS. 


Snowy  billows  of  sweet  apple  blooms, 
Snowy  as  the  ocean's  wave-crested  plumes ; 
Softly  rose-tinted  are  the  snowy  swells, 
As  softly  rose-tinted  as  the  ocean's  shells. 

Deep,  'mid  the  masses  of  the  snowy  blooms, 
The  gold  robin  sings  his  flute-like  tunes, 
Sings  cheery  among  the  white  fragrant  flowers, 
Sings  cheery  when  petals  fall  down  in  showers. 

And  snowy  the  clouds  in  the  sunbeams  fair, 
Floating  away  in  the  ambient  air, 
Like  the  wings  of  light  in  the  azure  blue, 
In  radiant  gleams  of  a  golden  hue. 

Under  a  tree,  'mid  the  rosy-white  blooms, 
Wind-blown  in  tiny  white  feathery  dunes, 
Like  a  roll  of  flowers  in  a  snowy  heap, 
A  little  child  lies  in  a  rosy  sleep. 


1 56 

Out,  in  the  radiant  sweet  spring  noon's  glow, 

Under  the  apple  tree  white  like  the  snow, 

The  little  one  strayed  from  the  farm-house  rooms 

At  the  beckoning  flush  of  the  fairy  blooms. 

Sunny  head  pillowed  on  the  flower  strown  grass, 
Sweet  buds  and  blossoms  each  chubby  hand   clasps, 
The  bird  above  her  sings  'mid  the  perfume, 
But  she  sees  not  flowers,  nor  hears  his  sweet  tune. 

Golden  curls  lie  by  the  soft  rosy  cheek, 
Nestled,  as  the  bird  in  the  flowery  deep — 
Sweet  is  the  robin  and  the  blooming  bowers, 
But  sweeter  the  child  'mid  the  fallen  flowers. 


THE    RIDE, 


Fresh  is  the  morning  and  fair, 

Balmy  and  soft  is  the  air, 
As    in,  through  the  greenwood  we  go : 

Through  sweet  ferns  and  the  rushes, 

Through  the  fragrant  spice  bushes, 
Where  the  wild  rose  and  sweet-brier  grow, 

Hard-hack  in  its  pink  outvies 

Glow  of  the  clear  morning  skies, 
And  fills  our  senses  with  fresh  delight, 

While  the  smiling  white  daisies, 

Now  unite  in  their  praises 
For  this  morning's  glorious  light. 

The  rays  of  the  bright  June  sun, 

In  quivering  pencils  run, 
Where  glossy  the  checkerberry  twines ; 

Here  a  moment  one  tarries, 

Over  the  bright  red  berries, 
Of  the  small  leafed  evergreen  vines. 


58 

We  ride  where  the  sunbeams  shower, 

Silvered  shafts  on  shrub  and  flower, 
Down  the  hill  and  across  the  stream, 
That  with  music  merry  follows 
All  the  deep  and  shady  hollows, 
Like  a  swift,  bewildering  dream 


Oh,  our  hearts  are  glad  and  gay, 
In  the  freshness  of  this  day  ; 

And  as  happy,  as  when  on  wings, — 
The  sweet  viewless  air  cleaving, 
All  beautiful  things  leaving, — 

Is  the  lark,  when  he  soars  and  sings. 


Now  adown  a  shady  glen, 
Afar  from  the  homes  of  men, 

Our  winding  stream  has  coursed  around, 
Flower-fringed  bank  shelving  steeply, 
Bright  waters  running  deeply — 

But  we  bridge  it  all  with  a  bound. 


159 

Till  its  sparkling  wavelets  play 

In  the  meadow,  far  away, 
Where  tufted  reeds  and  sedges  throng, 

Then  around  the  orchard  bending, 

Its  music  sweetly  blending 
With  the  meadow-lark's  morning  song. 


Now  through  a  deeper  green  shade, 

And  over  a  varied  grade, 
Of  green  hills  and  hollows  we  ride ; 

Dew,  glints  bright  on  the  bushes, 

On  the  ferns  and  the  rushes, 
That  glistening  fringe  the  wayside. 


Now  fleetly  we  dash  away, — 
Our  exercise  gleeful  play, — 

Over  the  green  and  flowery  mound ; 
And  like  the  wild  deer  racing, 
We,  each  other  are  chasing 

Over  the  hills  and  level  ground. 


i6o 

By  the  rocky  fells,  flashing, 
Through  the  leafy  dells,  dashing, 
Over  the  dewy,  mossy  mold, 

Then  out  from  darkening  shadows, 
Into  the  sunny  meadows, 
Glimmering  with  buttercups'  gold. 


Now  gladly  we  draw  the  rein 

In  the  cooling  shade  again, 
Of  the  elm-tree's  wide-spreading  arms  : 

Beauty  around  us  streaming  ; 

Nature  in  gladness  beaming; 
Thrill  us  with  delight  in  her  charms. 


THE    BETROTHEL 


O  that  fairest  golden  morn, 

From  its  dewy,  rosy  dawn, 
Through  all  that  by-gone  happy  day  ! — 

O  the  love  our  hearts  that  filled, 

And  the  joy  with  which  they  thrilled, 
In  all  that  flower-sweet  month  of  May  ! 

Robins  sang  their  sweetest  tunes, 
Hid 'in  crowds  of  apple  blooms, 

When  we  to  each  our  love  vows  made  ; 
The  world  to  us  was  glad  and  bright, 
We  viewed  it  all  through  love's  s'weet  light 

Ah,  then  we  had  no  dream  of  shade. 

Joy  gushed  from  the  linnet's  throat, 
Joy  the  breezes  lute-strings  smote, 

In  that  sweetest  of  all  life's  days ; 

Smiles  fell  from  the  soft  blue  sky, 
To  kiss  the  half-hid  flowerets  shy, 

All  in  the  tenderest  amber  haze. 


I  62 

So,  did  airy  harp-strings  swing- 
Down  the  leaves,  and  trembling  sing, 

In  softest  songs,  as  it  was  meet, 
All  in  joyous  ecstacies, 
Triumph  of  earth's  rhapsodies:  — 

Equal  love  make  our  lives  complete. 


Fairest  light  streamed  down  the  hills, 

Shimmered  brightening  on  the  rills :- 
The  heavens  were  rounded  in  the  lake, 

Our  love  rounded  in  one  soul, 

In  one  undivided  whole, 
So  firm,  entire,  it  could  not  break. 


Love's  sweet  vows  our  voices  sealed, 

Vows  that  ne'er  could  be'repealed, 
Such  faith  in  its  security ; 

Time  has  no  power  to  sever ; 

Love  is  born  to  live  forever; 
Lives  and  blooms  in  Eternity. 


ACCUMULATION. 


On  the  grey  rocks  the  lichens  grow ; 

Clinging  lichens,  and  the  moss 
That  every  year  new  layers  make, 

From  the  sea-surf's  gain  or  loss. 

Up  the  white  sands  the  breakers  roll, 
Leaving  kelp  and  tinted  shells  ; 

And  summer's  sun  and  winter's  rain 
In  whitening  drifts  the  story  tells. 

The  grasses  on  the  upland  grow, 
And  o'er  the  broadening  range 

Are  sprinkled  in  the  blooming  flowers 
With  never  varying  change. 

But,  night  by  night,  the  white  dew  falls, 
And  the  summer  rain  comes  down, 

And  forms  a  coating  soft  and  new 
Of  the  dun,  or  yellow  brown. 


164 

In  the  hollows,  gathered  and  heaped, 

Lie  the  leaves  of  autumn  time, 
Like  the  rushes,  the  reeds  and  ferns, 

Are  covered  with  hoary  rime. 

Thus  with  a  close  and  jealous  care 
That  no  matter  may  be  lost, 

All  that  which  summer  suns  bring  forth 
Is  held  by  the  rain  and  frost. 

And  so  kind  nature  garners  up, 
Through  the  years  as  they  go  by, 

All  the  strength  of  all  her  forces, 
The  coming  years  to  supply. 

So,  through  all  ages,  man  has  learned 
Nature's  thrift ;   and  with  no  fear, 

At  harvest  time  he  stores  his  seed, 
For  seed-time  of  the  coming  year. 

That  from  his  acres,  he  may  reap, 
And  with  the  increase  fill  his  bin, 

Trusting,  that  through  all  coming  years, 
It  will  be,  as  it  has  been. 


1 65 

So,  in  their  nature,  all  the  things 

That  God  has  made,  themselves  repeat ; 

All  the  sowing,  growing,  moulding, 
With  their  fullness  is  replete. 

And  a  surplus  will  ere  be  found, — 

Ever  in  advance  of  time, 
While  moving  onward  are  all  things, 

In  a  quaint  and  rhythmic  rhyme. 


THE    LADY. 


"A  woman  well  bred," 

Who  fills  well  her  place, 
And  holds  the  respect  of  us  all, 

Has  ever  kind  ways, 

And  a  pleasing  grace, 
As  is  needed  for  every  call. 

A  woman  well  learned 

In  best  things  of  life, 
Not  only  of  manner  but  art ; 

Her  acts  are  all  kind, 

And  her  ways  are  rife 
With  the  grace  of  love  in  her  heart. 

To  all  she  is  true, 

Is  steadfast  to  right, 
Seeks  ever  best  good  of  the  whole  ; 

And  wins  through  the  grace 

Of  love  in  her  face, 
That  marks  her  noble,  pure  soul. 


ARTISTS. 


Nature's  true  and  great  delineators, 
Poets,  musicians,  sculptors  and  painters, 
While  yet,  they  climb  for  some  great  ideal, 
They  lift  us  to  the  best  and  true  real, 
Loving  to  passion,  living  in  her  heart, 
They  give  the  world  the  best  they  can  in  art. 


They  imitate  the  best,  that  in  nature  lies  ; 
Round  her  their  imagination  greater  plays  ; 
And  while  strictly  bound  to  her  form  and  order 
And  related,  they  wing  their  flight  beyond  her. 


But  bounds,  has  reason  and  thoughts  in  their  flow 

As  bound  and  limit,  has  rain  and  the  snow ; 

Only  the  poet  can  bring  a  golden  ray, 

Bright  from  the  court  of  heaven  to  charm  his  lay  ; 

He  to  us  is  near,  who  in  love  sublime 

Lives  in  her  Author,  the  great  Love  Divine. 


THE    PAINTER. 


Though  he  would  melt  rainbows  for  sunsets, 
And  tone  colors  to  its  bright  warm  dyes ; 
And  the  lightning  in  white  stars  shiver 
To  blaze  bright  in  his  night's  inky  skies. 

For  his  storms  black  rolling  clouds  gather, 
To  meet  and  in  loud  thunder  to  break, 
When  bird  and  beast  hide  in  fear  trembling, 
And  mountains  from  under  pile  black. 

We  shrink  from  the  fearful  and  startling;  — 
As  fierce  storms  that  pile  wrecks  on  the  strand- 
For,  ever  the  graceful  and  pleasing, 
Must  lay  a  soft  veil  o'er  the  grand. 

His  morning  should  break  in  great  splendor, 
Of  light  brilliant,  to  sift  through  the  air, 
With  glory  to  glint  and  to  quaver, 
When  in  sunbeams  smile  all  the  world  fair. 


169 

Then  let  him  the  shades  tone  and  color, 

To  the  fairest  and  most  lovely  things, — 

As  glow  of  the  day  and  haze  dreamy, 

That  with  the  breath  of  the  wind  take  wings. 

This  airy  enveloping  pleases, 
And  softens  the  bright  light  in  his  scenes, 
Takes  from  light  the  glare,  and  subdues  it, — 
We  weary  of  only  bright  gleams. 


PICTURES. 


While  wrapped  in  a  dream  of  long  by-gone  days, 

I  see  far  up  the  still  flow  of  time, 
And  the  pictures,  sketched  from  the  shifting  scenes. 

Blend  in  a  tender  musical  rhyme. 

There  are  dewy  meads  and  the  grassy  hills, 
Melting  in  the  morn's  soft  haze  away ; 

And  sombre  wildwoods,  and  bright  rippling  brooks, 
Where  the  golden-rod  and  aster  stray. 

There  are  flowery  hills,  and  silvery  lakes, 

When  the  morning  sunbeams  rain  their  light ; 

The  silvery  moon  and  the  watching  stars, 
That  glorify  the  soft,  stilly  night. 

I  see  a  long  path  through  the  shady  woods, 
Leaf  strown,  where  light  little  footsteps  stray ; 

The  white  sandy  shore  of  a  greenwood  lake, 
Where  little  hands  with  pebbles  play. 


171 
1  sec  the  paternal,  dearly  loved  home, 

A 'id  the  wide  sunny,  sloping  green  lawn, 
And  the  large,  plane  trees  where  the  shadows  hide 

In  rosy  glow  of  the  dewy  dawn. 

I  gather  the  tasseled  buttons,  that  fall 

o 

Down  on  the  soft  green  clover-flecked  grass, 
And  think  of  the  long  year,  through  which  they  hung 
On  the  bare  branch,  or  'mid  leafy  mass. 

I  see  the  deep  well,  with  the  bucket  brown, 
The  graceful  curve  of  the  swinging  sweep, 

And  drink  of  the  water  so  crystal  clear, 

From  the  still  depths  of  its  fountains  deep. 

And  I  wander  the  well  filled  garden  o'er, 

In  dewy  hush  of  the  morning  red, 
And  see  the  many  hued  flowers  and  vines, 

And  the  rose  bush  bending  o'er  its  bed. 

The  spacious  barn,  with  its  open  doors, 
Fragrant  with  hay  in  the  summer-time, 

Where  the  flocks  and  herds  are  warmed  and  fed, 
When  winter  comes  with  its  frosty  rime. 


1/2 

The  tall  trees  that  by  the  long  wall  stand, 
And  the  apple  orchard  blooming  fair, 

Where  linnets,  robins  and  sparrows  sing, 
Amid  the  white  bloom  in  fragrant  air. 

I  see  around  these,  long  and  widely  spread, 
The  meadows  with  daisies  all  ablaze ; 

The  grassy  uplands,  the  corn  and  clover, 
And  broad  pastures  where  the  cattle  graze. 

Fair  the  near  scene,  and  the  surroundings, 
The  nodding  grasses  and  waving  grain, 

Distant  woodlands,  that  from  the  winds  shelter, 
The  tender  orchis  and  low  sweet  fern. 

The  logn  mountains  that  hide  the  blue,  blue  sea, 
Towering  high  against  the  rosy  dawn, 

The  wooded  swells  and  the  steep  rocky  heights 
That  purple  beneath  the  new  moon's  horn. 

And  dear  is  every  hill  and  level, 

Rock,  shrub  and  tree,  that  over  them  fill, 

The  red  sumac  and  the  flaming  alders, 
And  every  warbling  brook  and  rill. 


173 
Yet  sweeter  and  dearer,  O  far  to  me, 

Is  the  ever-changing  self-same  group 
Of  children,  gay  among  fair  spring  flowers, 

Or  amid  the  autumn  leaves  and  fruit. 

I  see  the  father  well  pleased  to  listen, 
As  they,  merry  voice  some  new  delight, 

The  dear  and  tenderly  loving  mother, 

Whose  smile  to  them  is  life's  rosiest  light. 

O  sweetly  fair  scenes,  ye  glow  in  the  light, 
That  burns  undimned  in  memory's  halls, 

Ye  glow,  and  the  pictures  are  sacred  held, 
That  hang  in  love-light  on  her  walls. 

Loved  pictures  of  the  sweet  halcyon  days, 

When  summers  were  long  and  the  hours  low  ; 

O  how  throbs  my  heart  while  gazing  on  you  ! 
How  bright  in  memory  still,  ye  glow. 


THE    NEW    YEAR. 


Hail !    all  hail  to  the  glad  New  Year  ! 
Hail  to  it  with  sweet  sounds  of  cheer ; 

Ring  in  the  sweet  chorus 

Of  gladness  before  us  ; 

Ring  it  loud  ;    ring  it  clear  ; 

Ring  it  everywhere, 
There  is  naught  for  the  strong  heart  to  fear. 


Hail !   hail  to  it,  rife  with  bright  hope  ! 

Our  best  aid  with  life's  ills  to  cope, 
For  strength  it  will  bring, — 
And  though  it  take  wing, — 
Will  return  to  our  breast, 
Like  a  bird  to  its  nest, 

And  give  to  the  mind  and  heart  full  scope. 


175 
Hail !   all  hail  to  the  new,  New  Year ! 

The  old  with  memory  is  dear; 

But  more,  and  yet  more, 

Has  the  New  Year  in  store : 

The  near  future  is  bright, 

The  hope  basks  in  its  light, 
So,  our  hearts  are  blest  in  its  cheer. 


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